To Give It Time
by snapemartyr
Summary: "How dare you stand there," he snarled. Harry found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Snape's own, nearly mesmerized by the fury tearing across his features. "How dare you stand where my son should have been. Don't- ever- mention- Lily- to me- again!" Then he raised his wand, and Harry cringed.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTE ON THE NATURE OF THIS STORY:**

**This is a rather offbeat story for many of the followers on this site, so I feel it incumbent upon me to warn you, or rather, merely enlighten you of a few details concerning this piece. I did not have any particular audience in mind when I sat down with my pen in hand, but I do know that I began writing during a deeply cathartic moment. Therefore, it is highly personal, and is written in my natural syle, which tends to be very poetic. I want to make it plain to those of you that have been reading so far, that I have been experimenting in order to see what kind of responses I would receive. I have been extremely touched by the people that have written pure responses, who have enjoyed this piece for what it is. Oh, and please don't be distressed, readers! This is not goodbye. I simply want to specify my purpose for readers that have found this piece to be confusing. I have thought intermittently about tailoring this piece to be written in plainer language, but I have decided not to do so. In the future, I may write a different rendition. However, this was meant to be lyrical, and it will remain emotive and explorative. Again, my deepest thanks to those who have grown attached. I will not take this piece down, although I may consider posting it to my personal blogsite. This is mainly directed to those of you who are confused by the figurative language of this. I offer my apologies. As I said before, I am exploring, and learning to direct my work towards a variety of audiences at present. Therefore, I have categorized this underneath 'poetry,' and plainly ask that all of your queries be sent to me. I will be happy to clear up any matters possible, to make the story as clear as it can be. A big thank-you to everyone involved . . . **

**A/N: My stories tend to work themselves out. I would appreciate any support and welcome all of the suggestions in your arsenal, to my lovely readers. You mean more than you can possibly imagine, and your ideas help to hone my creations. I will not provide a developed plot, and I will not tell you what happens next, but wait for Snape and Harry to realize what has been hidden away from the eyes of readers to portray something that will be worth the risk. And here is the plunging into our first. I hope you enjoy, and that you will tell me if you do not, via a constructive format. Cheers!**

**Additionally- Not mine, not mine, as we say! {The Disclaimer}**

**Chapter 1**

When he was little, he often thought about what it might be like if the trees in the wind stopped blowing. But then, who cared? Was there any reason why he had become so disenchanted with the leaves that resembled palms outside of her window? So he didn't live in sunny California. Big deal. People grew up. _Wizards,_ grew up. It was a wizard's world in which he was living, and what would possibly make it otherwise? He was here, so that he could defeat Lord Voldemort, the most nefarious evil wizard that ever walked the face of the Earth, nothing more . . . there was no reason for him to feel that when everything was said and finished, the aching, dull pain would leave his chest, and that he would be able to lie upon his small cot in the Dursley's room that had graciously, given him, forever . . .

"Harrrry!" The shrill call penetrated his eardrums, forcing him to rise from his half-sit in a languid half-fall from his bed. Would that she would interrupt Harry, while he was busy. He was _always_ busy. Why didn't she understand that? His Aunt Petunia would never portray an iota of the brains that God had surely bestowed upon her. No matter. "The dishes need to be done!" He sighed. Of course.

"I'll be right there, Aunt Petunia," he said, dully. Sirius Black was dead. What did he care if he still had chores, that needed to be finished? There was no respite for a weary soul. He would do the dishes mechanically, and as methodical as ever while he stared out of the window at the swaying tree branches. He was always staring at the trees. As he looked back down at what he was doing, a small sleek tuft of fur caught his eye. Near the crevices between the sill and the wall of the kitchen, deep in the nook of a shadow, rested a black cat. His Aunt Petunia would not doubt have a fit if he saw this. He peered at it a bit closer. It was a sleek, glistening black one, with rather haughty features about it, and an astute expression. Malevolent green eyes narrowed at him. Harry shook his head to himself. Haughty features? He really was allowing his grief to claim him.

"Booooy," thundered a deep voice, followed by the blundering of an oversized man.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry looked up innocently as his uncle sauntered clumsily into the room. "When you are done with those, you need to work on the garden. I told your Pentunia you've been slacking these past few days." He eyed his nephew beadily. "I trust there's a reason for this?" he hissed through clenched teeth. He waved a puffy hand in the air. "Don't answer. You always were as negligent as your parents. I always knew, that -" Harry's skin was boiling. He could feel his face getting red, and swiftly he turned away, trying blatantly to ignore his uncle's words. Without the stain of his godfather plunging mercilessly ahead of him as a distant but poignant presence, a blot that followed before him as his- his savior- Harry could no longer threaten the Dursleys. For once in his life, he chose to take a wiser journey, and he left the room, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

He sunk down on his haunches and wrapped his arms about him. He blew shaky breaths, trying to calm his breathing. As he bit his lip so hard that he nearly drew blood with the effort, an odd swelling behind his eyes forced him to blink rapidly. In the short time that he took to try and calm his rushing adrenaline, clouds overhead began to gather into rolling heaps of black, velveteen stir-fry noodles. A storm was brewing, and by the looks of it, he would be stuck out here in a roaring thundercloud misery soon.

"Just bloody great," he muttered. Well, he didn't care if he got sick, he thought to himself stoutly. There was no way he was going back to listen to the Dursleys berate him. He knew his actions were stupid. But, really, who cared? He was the bloody savior of the wizarding world. No one really cared if he lived or failed, save to think of his life in terms of what it meant to the war. Sirius had cared . . . he shook his head to himself. Too late.

It was a dark and terribly perilous enclosure. How was it that the Dursleys could have shut him away in this room for longer than he could remember living? Waves upon waves of the raging storm had no way to release their efforts save for unleashing their satanic qualities upon his window. Harry thought that it was bent on targeting only himself, as the tails of long rain slashes thrust themselves against his window. Actually, perhaps he wasn't so far from the mark of precision, for his deduction proved correct a moment later- a long, heavily-soaked, saturated teardrop that extended the length of the pane became something more, of a sudden . . . it writhed, and twisted . . . these qualities aren't a part of rain? How could it writhe? Harry was too deep in grief. Really. But then it darkened, and a long and dark shadow crept outside the window. There was a great creak, and then a crash, as the window suddenly, somehow amazingly, broke.

"You have got to be- " Well, no one was kidding. A giant snake was now developing out of the fold of black shadow. Harry watched with horror as it twisted and adorned scales, like it was putting on some sort of clothing, a black mass . . . putting on its shiny snakeskin, and suddenly, he was staring at a full-fledged, roaring with fury, snake. Everything emitted from the animal was furious, and it was directed right towards-

Where was his wand? All of the color left Harry's face and was wrenched from his body, which feeling pulled him mentally into absolute fear for his life. All of the life was already sucked from him as he stared straight into the malevolent red eyes of the ten foot monstrosity glaring at him. Which immediately, lunged for the boy in front of it.

He had to warn the Dursleys. That was the top concern on his mind. He pulled his door open and flew down the staircase, not stopping to look back to see whether the giant had followed him. He accidentally kicked the black cat he had seen earlier.

"Move, cat- !" The animal hissed at him. But reminded him-

"Hedwig!" _No,_ something in his still coherent brain said, _not without the wand. _The Dursleys had placed it under the cupboard earlier that summer, because of course he wouldn't need any of his supplies while he was living with muggles who harbored an intensive fear of anything that was magical, and loathed him for each semblance of a magical quality he had ever portrayed. "Arrrgh!" It was a yell that was filled with frustration when he found the door to be maliciously locked against him. A terrible hissing noise was beckoning him sibilantly from behind, and he was quite sure that it was not the cat. Harry swung around. He glanced furtively around himself for some sort of large piece of furniture, or an item that he could chuck at the huge blob of snake-bits.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon hollered. "What's all that racket?" He was sweating profusely. Good grief, that phrase was an understatement. What was he going to do? He couldn't protect them too.

Out of nowhere, a sight met Harry that he found to be completely- unlikely. The black cat that had been hiding out for the day, unseen by anyone save for himself, lunged from some unknown place in the house and landed directly upon the giant snake's head. Harry's eyes widened with astonishment as well as relief as it moved back from him, distracted by the four-legged beast now clinging with a paramount ferocity to its skin. The cat had jumped on the top of its head, with claws dove deeply, Harry presumed, into the scales, because it was enough to cause the snake to shake its head several times in succession before the cat made another dangerous move. It dug its claws into the monster's eyes, causing blood to ooze from the red orbs. The snake, disoriented by blindness caused by this, moved slowly back, and backed through the doorway, obviously in agony. Its body thrust several times against the door, slithering down to a coil of apparent pain when it would not open. This was extremely precarious, but Harry could not reach the door to open it without further inhibiting the creature. That was the moment when footsteps pounded down the stairs. He turned, and saw all three of the Dursleys backed up against the door to the living room, all of them resembling stiff boards plastered to the wall and doorways, since Dudley actually took up the frame alone.

"Er- I um- I don't really know what happened," Harry said truthfully, still shaky from the encounter. None of them said anything to him. All of them were occupied with their apparent utter terror at the creature now writing on the floor before them. Uncle Vernon was the first to recover. His beady eyes sought out his nephew through a face that was quickly purpling.

"You- you- " He seemed at a loss for words. Oddly though, Harry was feeling strangely fed up.

"Now look. I didn't have anything to do with this," he stated blandly. He narrowed his eyes at his uncle, saying through gritted teeth, "you need to just open the door to the cupboard, so I can get my wand to get rid of the snake." Aunt Petunia nudged him. Obviously Uncle Vernon was on the line about this idea. Finally he clamped his mouth shut, as though he were trying not to spew out his objections with more force than Harry would have thought possible, if he hadn't been such an overly-large person- and the overall push that moved him to the closet was amazing. Harry ventured that size blackened the shades of willpower, making them more formidable. Because it must have taken a dark force to get his uncle to unlock that door. Yet nevertheless, Harry nearly ploughed through him in order to get to his wand, while his uncle removed himself to the side, lumbering before the entranceway near the stairs with Aunt Petunia and Dudley quick at his heels, quick, for what could be deemed quick, of course- he desperately hoped, though that they would flee the house quickly. _Nevermind if they are quick about anything, _for the snake had roused itself at Uncle Vernon's movement, causing whimpering to reverberate about from the three of them, their terror so palpable, it would have been ridiculous. Only under normal circumstances though.

The snake was now behind Harry, his sweat pores trickling with rain it seemed, at this realization of the large blob's appearance. Mass, of black in a snake's skin. He swiveled with skills born from Quidditch, flourished his wand in a few, quick incantations. Of course nothing blasted happened. Before Harry could do anything more than stare into the horrible creature's piercing red eyes, deeper than he had ever imagined something that had no apparent connection to Tom Riddle to be, so malevolent and somehow . . . he had only ever seen such purpose in Nagini's eyes.

"Petrificus Totalus!" He wasn't quick enough, because the animal lashed out at him in the mere minute he had taken to think of the refreshing spell, which, in spite of originality, probably was totally a stupid act that made fluid magic seem completely . . . an entity that mocked his nimble leg, now incapacitated, oozing with apparent stuff, his blood dribbling from a gargantuan, porous figure-eight in great, malicious lines . . .

Then there was a dark figure looming up in front of him slowing all of the senses Harry had ever experienced up until this point, the world brought about a new picture of the type he had never before caught in his grasp. It was in his grasp because Harry was looking up at the swinging chandeliers from the Dursley's ceiling, baffled, relaxed . . . candle semblances that were not real candles his aunt liked so much adorning the walls, all in one picture. He smiled. This was really the Dursley's place then he was definitely missing out all this time that he'd scoffed at them. They truly knew how to pretty it up, make it picturesque. It did look like the scene out of a- moving novel. An odd one. Severus Snape was now staring down at him, saying something that Harry couldn't decipher.

"Potter I need you to . . . " It emptied into the open space.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **

**Hello everyone. It is a pleasure of mine to meet with you via this site, and to upload my own story after having read many Snape and Harry stories in the past, which have been turning many different wheels in my mind for ages. Severus Snape has been a marvelous work of the wonders that in writing require delicacy and careful meditation, but for me this quality is manifested with a lot of gravity. You see, I do not want to deviate too much from the original character, because although his personal admissions to a defined character are of course debatable, he is loved and cherished in this realm of JKR's fans. Therefore my goal is to build upon those areas that the author did not explore, to satisfy our fancy of who Snape really was. He will grow in this story, but in canon. Harry is working towards this development the summer after fifth year, after Sirius's death. I hope that you will all be patient, entertained, and will offer me all suggestions which will help to form this piece. If you would like to see it go in a certain direction, toss out the word, and I will take it to heart. Please provide constructive criticism and questions. In response to an earlier question, the Ministry will take action against Harry's crime at the Dursleys for underage magic, but because Harry is currently in hiding with Professor Snape, details will not be given in the usual manner, but rather an enigmatic one true to the development of this. Enjoy!**

**I will be uploading this story ****every Saturday ****if all goes to plan. Cheers to you!**

**Additionally, I will be giving public thanks to all reviewers at the beginning of this chapter. If this becomes a problem for anyone, let me know that you would like to be anonymous when you send your messages. It is simply my way of giving thanks for taking the time to stop in. **

**A special thanks to halzeldragon and GarnetMonsoon. I hope that you both continue this journey with me!**

**{Disclaimer: I've got no stakes in the original story, of course}**

**Chapter 2: **

The lights around Harry's head were extremely distracting, but he could not discern between what could be deemed as evidence against the pounding, and aching with the thump of a sharp hammer, nails. The magic of light had been particularly lovely, a few hours before, he thought- had it been only a few hours? Did he know that happened? A few hours ago . . . his head didn't ache . . .

"Ugh." The sickening sway of the lamp-bulbs betwixt crystal chandeliers were completely unreasonable. They danced in a tandem of dark maroons, red bloods, purple dots, and the black of a murky chai tea. Harry covered his eyes with a shaky hand, thinking, about how these lights had become so painful, but they hadn't been painful then, earlier they hadn't been. He had beh-in- sitting, been laying, laying beneath the Dursley's crystal chandelier, after trying to defeat the snake! Now the pushed-button smote Harry with evidence of memory, the lights a testament to the fact that earlier he had not been in pain. He wanted to scream at whatever robotic hand of cruelty had caused his memory to know that Snape had been in the Dursley's house, at the Dursley's house . . . his shoulders sagged. Wait. Where was he? Okay, he'd had about enough of this. Why was laying beneath covers a part of his mind's apparent fantasy that it wanted to play? Panicking, he struggled to throw himself from the bed he was in, only to discover, to his surprise, that immediate pain mocked his rash judgment like some kind of dark fantasy, and he thought that his mind was playing harsh, mean games, because he now feared insanity, especially when the door opened to reveal a tall figure clothed in black. Could this dream become more dark? He wondered wryly. Well, it seems he had figurative tendencies. Perhaps he . . .

"Mr. Potter," Snape spat. Harry simply stared at Snape, for once at a total loss of words. He felt himself growing pale, at the implications his presence had, since he would not be in a room with him, he was sure, without very good provocation. Harry groaned inwardly, but did not think that he had the ability to fire up any hexes, assuming Snape would allow him to get one past him in his wildest dreams. But the thought was always pleasant. As it was, although completely bewildered by the notion, he was at Snape's mercy. Until sense could be made out of what exactly was going on, the time would lead him into a world where there was simply no sense, _and he would float around in a world where he and Snape co-existed. _And he thought he smelled tea from the other room wafting through the slit in the doorway, so suffice it to say that at the moment, the crudest, strangest thoughts about this situation were making a mockery of Snape's appearance here. Was it that he was perhaps in Snape's quarters? That could not be. What a terrible thought, and he brushed it aside with immediate care.

Harry watched him warily. Snape's fingers were thrumming impatiently. "Potter, since you deem yourself unable to arise or fairly move at this precise moment," he stopped to sneer in an elongated stretch of sour mouth, "you are ordered to take a potion. So- I suggest- you lie back down, as you will not be going anywhere in the foreseeable future." His black eyes glittered. Harry, not exactly sure he was quite understanding Snape properly, did lie back down, but only making a half-hearted attempt. There was a wand, he was certain, under the black-robed arm now pointed at a slim angle toward him, as though the potions professor was itching to move the hand that enclosed the object. He gulped nervously. Then he stared right at Snape.

"Can you explain what went on back there? And where am I?" How could he land here, without any explanation from the man before him to his predicament other than what Harry already knew in regards to the pain he was in, that would actually be extremely difficult to escape from his notice. His head throbbed more painfully, causing him to wince but trying desperately not to portray his symptoms lest Snape should make an unprecedented move, or, well, Harry didn't know exactly. Perhaps it was that he didn't want to take any pain relievers that Snape brewed, although he had to admit, that his well-being might suffer slightly if he didn't attain some kind of treatment. Slowly he bit out, "I was inflicted with that animal, that giant snake caused quite a commotion. I was bitten. Dursleys fled and I saw a big cat . . . "

"Potter when you feel as though it may be necessary to babble nonsense at me then I will specifically ask you. Until then, take something for your inability to create proper speech." He thrust the potion under Harry's nose, where Harry looked down at the glittering stirring around in a blue holder. He turned his head aside. "Ugh. D- " Snape was already leaving the room. Harry wondered what the stuff tasted like. He fell asleep pretty quickly after the door was closed.

Not too long after the most precarious vent of some sort to the left of him opened, emitting some sort of substance with a muddy brown texture of well, what looked to be mud anyway, Harry found that leaning backwards into the headboard seemed to comfort him. The vent made monstrous noises, that for some reason, kept him in a mindset of living animals with huge fangs-

"Potter! What makes you think that this cowering will help your condition?" Harry looked up. Snape was standing in the doorway, looking more livid than he had ever seen the man look, save for, perhaps, that single time he had looked into his pensieve. White-faced tickled the inner fury, as a shocking physical change developed. Harry watched in some small awed sense, while the outward skin on Snape's face changed, the lips and cheeks and sallow face turning pure white, making his fury react to the color, portraying an almost tangible interaction. The whiter he got, the more frighteningly angry. It was almost a fascinating observation, although Harry was sure that this idea was more dangerous to him than anything else at the moment, and he kept his mouth shut, and tried to school his own features into innocence. He was not entirely sure why Snape was so angry. As though he had only grasped half of the situation, he felt, while curiosity and pain battled with each other. He decided in favor of the former. "Erm- can you tell me why exactly I'm here?" He chose that moment to look down at himself, only to find that he couldn't see any part of his body, which had been covered by white sheets up to his neckline. Harry frowned.

Snape quickly crossed before him to the other side of the room, black robes billowing around the thin frame. Harry yelped unwittingly as the mud-texture grew, swirling around him. He wanted to reach out and touch in, but this did not seem like a good idea.

"Yes, fascinating, isn't it Potter?" Harry flushed at Snape's words, realizing then that he had actually reached a hand out towards the strange mist, not understanding its properties. "What is it?"

"This is none of your concern." Snape glared at him over his hooked nose. "Suffice it to say, that it is a magical mist which will work to heal your condition." Harry's frowned deepened, before sheer forces of other feelings crept into his mind, because the necessity of being with his snarky potions professor, underneath some sort of mist that did not resemble its name, but pure mud, did not sit well with him. He swallowed convulsively, a sense of foreboding threatening to overtake him. He knew he must have been badly hurt by the snake, but that did not explain anything. At the current moment, a long ache had overtaken his body, but because he was curled into a ball, having retreated from the strange substance, he unbent quickly in something like a spasm. Then he hissed as this caused his left arm to throb. It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. He thought that if someone had cursed him with a fire-exploding spell, this would have been a similar feeling perhaps.

Snape had crossed the room again to the bed beside Harry, who, not having realized he'd closed his eyes, wincing, opened them when a sliding motion pulled his covers from his upper body. Jolted from trying to block out the pain in this way, his body made an involuntary movement of protest, for the man was closely examining his arm, but worse than that was the way the arm looked, itself. And he couldn't help it. He gasped loudly. The appendage had turned almost completely black, all the way down his shoulder to his hand, purpling in some areas, but- this couldn't be a good sign. He swallowed with revulsion as Snape's wand did its own work, looking in the other direction. He had become nauseous quickly, with shallow breaths holding him back only, from retching all over Snape. For some reason, well, no, an obvious reason, less control over himself was making him experience how utterly weak he was. In a couple of minutes, but which seemed like several hours due to the amount of agony Snape was causing him, he detected that this part of the exam was finished. Or whatever he was doing, and no matter what it was, Harry did not like it at all.

"What the bite will have done in the form of damage, we cannot know quite yet," said Snape. "It will be a couple of days most likely before any permanent symptoms of it will manifest." Harry tried to pay attention to what he was saying, but his head hurt as much as his body did, and Snape seemed strangely bright to him. Desperately he struggled against this incoherency. "What- what does that mean? Where did that snake come from? Why am I here? Where are we?" Snape scowled, and Harry wondered whether he would answer.

"We are at Spinner's End, Potter. You are in my quarters, and . . . while you are, I suggest that you, do exactly as your told," he said softly, staring at Harry with an undecipherable expression. "I do not want you to have to stay here any longer than is possible, Potter," he continued when Harry did not answer. Still Harry stayed mute. Abruptly he turned, and made to leave.

"Wait," Harry said, frustrated, trying to wrap his mind about the situation. "What about the Dursleys?" Snape stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He turned and stared at him for a minute.

"The headmaster has your- family," he sneered the word, but Harry merely shrugged to himself, because he didn't completely disagree with him, "secured, for the time being."

"Oh. Alright." He gritted his teeth. To his horror, tears built up behind his eyelids. His head felt like it was being pounded with a thousand nails, making him wish for the minute that he truly was out of his head, literally and figuratively. But he also did not want Snape to be privy to him when he was in a vulnerable state. Yet the tears spilled, without his consent, down his face. He was extremely embarrassed. "Do you have a headache potion available?"

"Unfortunately you cannot be given a headache potion. The snake's venom that you absorbed will not allow use of regular potions Potter." Harry moaned, and then without warning, retched all over his bed-sheets. He heard movement at his side again, but he could not make sense out of them. The sounds of incantations being muttered were distinguishable. Harry was holding onto his middle, gasping.

"You are going to be expelling this for a time, perhaps . . . although it seems to be more likely that your symptoms are a direct cause of the headache . . . " Snape circled the room, talking to himself, until finally stopping next to Harry's bedside once more. "Do not fall asleep Potter. And I will be displeased to an exceptional extent if you make any unnecessary movements. Dreamless Sleep may be in order." He was gone rapidly in a bat-like swoop. Bats are terribly exotic . . . anything could be done to create something from whatever they had, whatever is necessary to exhibit, like some sort of a scary exhibition of long fangs, and tongues . . . Harry did not know what possessed this type of development save for Severus Snape. There was something about bats that gave people the creepy feeling that one got when the stairs first start moving at Hogwarts for the first time. The bat swooped back in a minute later, with Harry imagining what could have caused it to come back so quickly. "Did you- forget something?" he slurred.

"Delirious. Drink this potion Potter," Snape told him in a tight voice. Without even questioning it, Harry held his hand out. Moments later he was in a deep sleep.

A snow fell thickly outside of the window, before Harry had any second thoughts, or third thoughts. Beside the bureau before him sat a snowy owl. "Hedwig!" He cried joyfully. The bird blinked at him in the manner of owls with large round eyes, its wings spotted with little dark speckled marbles that were so familiar. For some unfathomable reason, Harry felt vaguely like crying at the sight of her. Nothing in his life seemed normal anymore. And really, to say that it was probably would have done a disservice, though to whom he really couldn't think about. His room, as he glanced around finally to take in some of his surroundings, completely bared itself to him, since this reminded him of being in the hospital, so distanced and cold, and sterile it was. There was no place in the room to hide anything. A bed, he thought slowly, musing over what Snape would do with himself on his spare time . . . he chuckled lightly.

"Ohh."

"I thought even you would have the brains not to overexert yourself Potter," Snape muttered. Harry glanced around. To his shock, he was sitting in a hard chair beside Harry's bed, with a large black volume opened to one of the last pages. Gruesome colors forced their way out of the book in moving semblances that caused Harry to look away, repulsed. When he looked around once more, Snape watched him carefully, with a maddening glint in his cold, dark eyes. Probably trying to legilimize me, Harry thought quickly to himself. He didn't have any idea what could be done with, for, starting to throw curses seemed fairly pointless, but round, full pulling of the chord that he just realized had been wrapped around him, tying him to the bed, took him aback. Snape was releasing binds that he didn't even know he had been under, with rapid incantations that used only his hands, which were waving over him in whole arcs, as though he were making moons over him. The ropes were brusquely pulled away, making him forget his solitary recriminating ideas. Harry carefully averted his head.

"Get up Potter, we need to address your wound."

"Address my wound?" Snape's lip curled slightly. "Obviously. Do not test my patience. You are already in my house, under my- "

"Why is that, sir?" Harry asked quickly. He hoped that perhaps now he could get Snape to answer him, with any luck, for he really needed some answers. "What happened back there? Was that snake one of Voldemort's- "

"I have told you before not to say that name, Potter!" Snape growled dangerously. Harry nearly sighed, although his glare treacherously gave away his feelings. He blinked quickly. Silence permeated for the better part of the next minute, and Harry wondered whether- he would just keep asking.

"Potter, Professor Dumbledore will be here shortly, and at that time will explain his theories of the incident. Until then you will do what I require of you, unless you want to suffer unfortunate consequences." Harry met his cold eyes. "You mean my arm. What does this mean?" He gestured down at his covered body. Snape's lips were pursed into a thin white line. "We do not know what your negative actions will mean yet." His words seemed particularly ominous, but Harry knew better than to question. Yet dread pooled in his stomach, and he could not break the feeling. When he glanced at the potions professor his dead limbs poignantly mocked his dread. "What do you mean we do not know?" Involuntarily, his right arm twitched. Snape stared at him for his question, that was it.

"You could lose your arm Potter," he said brusquely, "which is why we are taking precautionary matters to ensure that does not- "

"What are the chances?" Harry interrupted quickly. Snape's eyes narrowed, but his lips tightened. "They are at this point, approximately half." Harry looked away from him, for at those words his eyes had begun to water against his will. He might lose his arm . . . how was he ever going to fight Voldemort without an arm? What would become of his friends, the wizarding world would go down in shambles if he did not stop these ridiculous thoughts actually. No. Dumbledore would fight him. He did not even hear Snape's departure from his side, until a minute passed into rummaging through drawers at the bureau on the other side of the room. This single furniture piece made a maddeningly loud impression on the sterile white of the room, the obvious recognition of being somewhere else besides the hospital wing, a nice addition on the plain background. Several potions were pulled from the top. One was a shocking pink shade, making him cringe when he saw it. Snape did not say anything to him, yet Harry unfortunately knew this to be one of the most foul tasting specimens from potions class due to some of the readings he had done. At least, he knew that he wasn't being poisoned, he thought to himself wryly.

Wordlessly, the potions were placed on the windowsill before his bed. Harry looked longingly out at the slit within the closed up space that typically emitted light. As Snape poured some of the first bottle onto a long, silver spoon, he wondered if the window could be opened. He cringed immediately afterward. The thought sounded a bit childish to someone that could be about to lose their arm. His head also thumped sickeningly, making him feel nauseous again. Again? That meant that he had been sick, that he had really puked earlier before Snape. Harry's face turned red at the thought, giving his white face the appearance of a full tomato. Until a spoon of some kind of black potion was thrust under his nose. Harry winced. Snape made an impatient sound above him, causing him to glance up at the black-robed potions master. Everything had to be of a black color, didn't it? An image shimmered before him of black snakes and arms . . .

"If you think that I am of a mind to waste my entire day waiting for you to take this, your arrogance is worse than I thought. I have no intention of allowing you to get sick again," he said in a waspish tone that dwindled away slowly.

"I- I'm sorry about that," Harry nearly choked on the words. "I didn't realize that- that is to say I- " Finally realizing that he was muttering unintelligibly, he broke off mid-sentence, looking away from Snape to hide the flush on his cheeks. But Snape merely said,

"It is expected that you will feel nauseous for the next couple of days if your body is working to fight against the infection as it should." Harry sighed, before reluctantly turning back and receiving the substance on the end of the spoon. The irony of who was giving I to him of course did not miss him, but he thought that at the moment question Snape might be even more fatal than the bite could possibly be. He felt terribly achy still. He received two more potions from Snape, before falling unceremoniously back against his pillow. Apparently satisfied, he turned his back to Harry and proceeded to the door of the room, leaving the potions bottles near the window.

"Wait," Harry called out at the last minute. He blushed again. "Do you think you could open the window?" he asked quickly. A curious look passed over Snape's face and his eyes glittered darkly. "No Potter. If your presence were spotted by anyone then both of us would surely be killed."

"Where's Hedwig?" he asked again, remembering just then that he hadn't seen the owl. Snape pulled a few strands of hair away from his pallid face. "I do not know. If you do not cease asking me incessant questions that are of no consequence, I will spell the mist to revive itself in your room." He left then to an area that Harry did not care to see. He desperately missed his familiar, and his friends. As he looked longingly out the crack in the window's side between the pane and brown shade, he was able to see snow falling down thickly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **

**Hey everyone, it is about 1:30 a.m., but I just had to put in another chapter of Snape- so lovely that this world of fandom has catered to our need for fun so well, since I am a perpetual night owl and always will be. I know it's a bit early, by my originally designated 'Saturday,' but no one ever complains about that, although confusing it might be to hear someone complain about a tongue twister! Lol. I'm sorry for my riddles. As I said, it's late, and I have EXTREME poetic tendencies. Thus, some of my passages are bound to be a bit confusing, but I apologize in advance, and welcome any comments or questions. Your reviews mean so much to me. They help me guide the story. Best wishes to you all, and to all a good night. Enjoy this, and please, I would truly love to hear your input.**

**Brooke ~**

**A special thanks to my last reviewers: 13AkiraKuran, hazeldragon, and GarnetMonsoon! I'm glad you are still with me. **

**And without preamble . . . on to the story. ****Note:**

**- Snape's house is enchanted by his own magical spells. **

**- Harry and Snape are in hiding under this protective layer**

**- The plot is revealed in periodic segments. **

**- The primary relationship in this piece focuses on the Harry/Snape dynamic. It will certainly not be slash, but I do not want to place it in a category, for I feel it to be unpredictable while maintaining what I wish will be a realistic portrayal, as close, I hope, to that as I can attain with the skills and dreams I own. I hope that this dynamic will be a shared interest between my readers and I, and that we will enjoy this setting in such a way. **

**Happy Reading! (my new slogan phrase, haha)**

**Chapter 3:**

Surely one cannot play with the light-bulbs for a long period of time unless they were completely delirious one would think. Perhaps Harry truly was. Colors whirled around in his vision while Hedwig hooted beside him, soft wings brushing lightly amongst the odd purple plant beside him that resembled a Tetarancula, one of the most well-known purplish plants with some green mottling on their leaves that Harry knew were poison. It did not surprise him in its presence. It did not surprise him much, not like the other things that were completely astonishing to one that was suffering from some malady or other, because anything that grew out of a vent in mud form, or pink potions, or snow falling outside the window when it was in fact summer, truly meant delirium. How could anything possibly mean anything to Harry? It must put his poor brain to shame, where his hands clenched his forehead trying to shield his mind from so many different strange sights and senses. He attempted to move around underneath his covers a bit, just a small bit, which in fact delighted him, because not only his legs responded, but his right arm also responded.

Trembling a mite because he could not make his arms cooperate with him entirely, Harry tried to pull his sheet down to get a glimpse of the arm which he couldn't move.

"Ouch!" He felt his eyes water, struggling to blink back tears as his body shook with some kind of- reaction. He didn't understand this odd- thing, for it was very strange, indeed it made no sense. He almost wished that Snape would come back in so that he could answer some of Harry's questions, or well, ahem, at least he could attempt to get something out of him. Harry was no fool. He knew that- well, it was a moot point anyway though, right? Professor Dumbledore would soon be here, he hoped . . . "Hedwig. Hi, girl. Did you go out today? I know you love the snow."

"It isn't snow, Potter, and you are highly mistaken if you deem it necessary to allow this creature to fly around my house!" he snapped. Harry quickly turned his head to the left. Professor Snape was sitting in the chair next to his bed once again, in the strangest manifestation he had ever seen. Well, perhaps it wasn't so strange for him to be sitting there. "Er- I thought I saw snow earlier. And this isn't good for her, sir." Harry stopped. Why in the world was he trying to explain? "The owl needs exercise."

"Really?" Snape said levelly. "And how do we imagine that this would work?" he said softly, black eyes boring into Harry's. "Do you suggest we open the window, breaking all of the magical spells and complicated enchantments that you in your wildest dreams could never imagine producing with your meager skill? So that you can let your owl out?" he sneered. "Even you Potter, surely must know that the animal to your right is easily recognized by followers of the Dark Lord."

"And you are one of them, aren't you, sir?" Harry gasped loudly. "I didn't- I didn't mean- " He hadn't meant his thoughts to come out in that way exactly. What he meant he couldn't possibly know, all that he could put into the equation was his apparent crime that Snape had placed into the interesting potion that he had pulled out of his pocket. "Sir, really- I didn't mean it like that," he said, rather hastily.

"Hush, Potter. Your sniveling has not been recognized by anyone save the- " his mouth twisted as though around a bag of vomit Bernie Botts's Every Flavor Beans- "ghosts, in this room." Harry just stared at him. What he could possibly have discovered from glancing around the room, and what, exactly, could he have found to be the 'ghosts' of the room? What was he possibly talking about? A sly smile spread across Snape's face, which unnerved him more than anything. Snape swiveled around and began walking at a brisk pace around the room in a half circle. He drew his wand slowly, as Harry just stared. An incantation meandered to his ears underneath some kind of muffled cotton, but he had not realized until this point that sounds had been difficult for him, causing him to frown. When he glanced towards what was taking place at the other end of the room, Snape too had a frown plastered on his face. Taking steps that were somewhat measured, he came to stand at the foot of Harry's bed, straightened up to his full height, and then pocketed his wand.

"You obviously can see me Potter, since the expressions on your face most certainly indicated a reaction to my words and actions." He stared right into Harry's eyes, unnerving him after a moment. He let his eyes rove to the side uneasily. For some reason, something about this was uncanny, though he didn't know exactly what was eliciting his nervousness, aside from the obvious fact that Snape was standing before him and he was in the man's house. "What did I say moments before, Potter?" he asked. Harry thought for a minute, puzzled as to what he was actually being asked.

"Er- you said something about ghosts in the room, before you walked over to the other side," he said a bit uncertainly. Now Snape's scowl deepened.

"No, Potter, that is not correct," he bit out. "I asked you whether or not you were having any additional symptoms besides the headaches and the residual ache as effects from the snake bite venom. But I believe you have already answered my question," he said. Harry's heart started to beat faster. He didn't like the sound of this at all. "What do you mean that I have suffered residual effects?" A beat. A note. Where was he going with this?

"It seems that you have suffered some hearing loss from the venom, Potter. This should be a temporary concern however, so there is no cause for you to act upon the idea that you will lose your hearing, or endure major long-term losses. I do not want you to actually enjoy being a pain in my household, _to me,_ the same as your father." Harry gritted his teeth, but said nothing. An exhale of some type met his ears he thought, if his ears were reliable, however, causing him to turn back to Snape. His sallow face was pinched up in an odd sort of way, as though he were extremely uncomfortable about something. Harry found himself shaking his head to indicate that he must be in the wrong place at the wrong time, in his own mind, for he did feel terribly woozy . . . he gasped, before shooting a cursory glance down at his arm, which of course happened to be on the left side. "What was that?" He felt awful, his body turning inward and then outward, or perhaps merely a series of cringes, that seized him, took hold, as he struggled against whatever Snape was putting into the wound. Maybe Harry was being poisoned, but there was no help for it _now_.

"This is an antidote for the venom," he told him, sounding more than a little sour, but Harry did not care. How could he, when agony coursed through every fiber of his lengthened, twisting body, which he pushed every way that he could think of in order to try to escape this torture? He thought that a million knives, fast-demon acting splinters had been shoved like treacherous little dark wizards through his blood, that made him do things he could not seem to control. "Could you stop it?"

He bit his tongue, while his eyes watered, although he rather thought, that there must have been more to this than anyone, Snape, was telling him. Fear somehow, overcame what was necessary, the pain washed away by a surging upward, that surpassed everything else Harry might have thought or felt in that moment. He couldn't exactly understand why, because it was not as if he hadn't undergone such circumstances before this one. After all, the Boy-Who-Lived experienced abnormal periods in his life quite often, did he not? His breathing started to increase while some sort of rusty colored ointment seeped through a wound that he could not completely see from this vantage point.

Before Harry could stop himself, he jerked into an upward position, staring Snape straight in the face, while all of the blood drained from his own.

"What are the effects from the venom? Why was that- that snake- at the Dursley's? Why have you brought me- " he gestured around himself, "to this home that is apparently yours, because, er, well no offense or anything like that," he said hastily, as Snape's nostrils flared while his eyes malevolently gleamed at his words, "but I'm quite sure that- that this would not be your first choice, because well, it's just that I know your position towards me . . . "

Snape stared at Harry as though he were one of the disgusting jars of filthy acting slimy bug, or ears that were all action in their slimy little bowls, pig's eyes and whatever else could have been related to the way in which he now sought out Harry's face. An odd whiteness had taken over, although Harry did not think it was anger . . . for some reason, it seemed as though Snape were deliberating. He therefore stayed silent, not willing to press him, biting his lip. Perhaps the off chance revealed itself in that moment of actually being able to . . . Snape brushed a few of the black lanky, greasy looking strands back from his pale face. Then he put one of his long fingers up to his thin lips and stroked across, not looking at Harry now, but in another direction entirely. This completely baffled Harry. "Er- sir?" he hedged, a bit uncertainly.

"Be quiet Potter!" Snape snapped. He turned abruptly. Harry could see the creased lines on his forehead that indicated some sort of danger sign, but he couldn't make himself go back, to stop asking questions- _that_ thought was utterly ridiculous. After all, everything that was taking place around him was a part of him, affected his life more than it could affect anyone else's . . . save for maybe his friends. His friends! He sat up with a jolt. They hadn't gone after him? Had they heard what happened? Harry nearly groaned aloud. How was he going to get any information out of the man that he had loathed for ten years? Why, of all the places he could have gone, what stroke of fate could_ possibly_ have brought him to Spinner's End? Harry understood a few things since he learned that he was some sort of symbol to the wizarding world, but this was one that didn't make sense no matter where he went with it, for the line of thought completely baffled him.

"More of this, Potter has to do with the rest of the wizarding world than you could possibly realize," Snape said slowly. "Two nights ago when that snake turned up at your muggle house- " he sneered the world 'muggle,' and Harry nearly laughed for a bizarre reason that he could not fathom, even though outside his window he could hear wind howling. A beat. Then it was enough. He looked into the fathomless black eyes before him once more, not thinking about everything he wished was and was not, of all of the ghosts and the witches and wizards of Hogwarts- how he missed them!- and let his mind wander back where it belonged, on Professor Snape. A purple bat-looking object flying overhead in one of the corners however, caused him to shudder, and he immediately looked away from the man again.

"Potter, much as you are fascinated by the dealings of this house," Snape spat, "I would think that even you would have the ability to listen to someone describing to you the unfortunate situation you are now in." Harry immediately, again, jerked his poor head back around.

"Yes, sir," he muttered. Snape's jaw was locked, but he did not seem able to reciprocate. It was as if he had lockjaw. Harry gulped. More than enough time had passed, however, between not knowing, than Harry had ever known. He nearly screamed- but stopped short. "You are a very unfortunate person indeed, Potter." Why did it occur to him that Snape relished these words? The man took a seat however, which happened to be right at Harry's bedside. He tried to keep his eyes off of the flying bat in the corner as this took place. "The Dark Lord and his followers have been given a small bit of information about the wards that your mother's blood had kept in place, and it seems that more to this experience has developed further than the headmaster has once- known," he finished abruptly. Harry merely stared at him.

"Then what exactly does that mean for the Dursleys?" he asked finally. "Obviously I will not be able to go back to their house to live. Both of us would be in danger!" he burst out. He was panicking, but at the same time anger course through him that he had never been able to reign, admittedly, in, during circumstances such as these. Professor Dumbledore's entire office had been destroyed due to Harry's outburst, because he had been foolish enough to smash up all of the silvery items in his vision. But now, fear, worse than anger, met up with other emotions, adding to his current health situation. Obviously he could not destroy anything anyway. Snape made an odd noise. A hmf? An odd nasally sound.

"Do not raise your voice, Potter. As I was saying, the Dark Lord has infiltrated the system heretofore erected. This means, that you will not be returning to that location in the short term. You are to reside here, since Professor Dumbledore appears to think it a good idea, for reasons . . . " he said in a low, sour voice, "that I cannot fathom." He paused for several long minutes, while Harry was lost in the turbulent thoughts spinning around in his head. So many different ways for him to express his complete bewilderment at the situation, but he could not choose any one of them. His arm was tingling. But this time Harry was not thinking about the physical pain, especially since no matter what he did nothing would take it away. But he grimaced in his reaction that couldn't be helped. Snape raised an eyebrow. "You are residing here, Potter, because no one will suspect that you would ever be in my quarters." Harry did say anything to that. "As I was emulating to you earlier, this house has many protective charms placed over it. Therefore on the outside it looks as though it is enchanted by several windows that disguise the interior. If the Dark Lord's followers are for any reason able to access this abode, then it will still be impossible, in theory, for anyone to enter the inside." Snape was watching him very carefully, but Harry still did not say anything. He merely tried to absorb the information.

"Is that why there is snow on the window?" he asked. Against all of his efforts, he could feel his body start to grow weary.

"Correct Potter," Snape said softly. His arm hurt so badly that he was having a hard time continuing to listen to the conversation.

"Whose venom was that? I wasn't aware that Voldemort had any snakes except for Nagini- "

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name! I am unaware of to whom the snake belonged," he said sourly, his gaze shifting away from Harry now, towards the enchanted window. They were both quiet, Snape standing on the other side of the room with his back to him, completely still, while Harry just tried not to betray too much misery at the pain he felt. His entire left arm now stung as though a magical fire had been lit underneath it. The pain was so intense that he could hardly bear to lie on the cot, while his head pounded furiously. Perhaps a possibility existed after all that Snape had spelled him with one of his own evil inventions? He dismissed the thought though, much as he would have liked to believe it- it would have provided him with many pleasant dreams of telling Dumbledore who the professor really was that he had hired. He had been telling him all along that Snape was untrustworthy . . .

"Do you think that you might be able to give me a potion or something?" He was almost willing to do anything to escape the pain, even if it meant asking Snape to do it. He turned around. One finger rove along the outline of his lips, and Harry did not say anything. "Just like a- a simple headache potion or something?" Snape picked up the rusty looking potion sitting on the windowsill and flashed it a glare. His eyes narrowed, he faced Harry again. "Unfortunately everything that has been done, embodies all of the preventative measures possible at this point." Harry lowered his eyes, his face flushing as his heartbeat increased. He did not like to think of what this implication really was. "I understand," he said hoarsely. He felt again, for the second time, like crying, but this notion was a completely ridiculous notion. Yet against his will, he felt his eyes start to water. His breathing increased once more.

"If you are aware of any additional symptoms besides the obvious Potter, then you must tell me immediately. It will be absolutely prudent that you are monitored over the next few hours under careful supervision, that which is unfortunately my task. However- repulsive as this task is, we do need the- ah- Boy-Who-Lived to be in good condition, do we not?" He said sibilantly, nearly stroking the label. Harry nearly had enough. His next words were given little thought, but he did not have a tight reign over his emotions at that point.

"Yeah," he found himself saying loudly, "yeah, I know the entire wizarding world looks up to me and all, so we couldn't have the Boy-Who-Lived damaged or anything. I mean, what would become of everyone if I were to face Voldemort with a limb that's missing?" Harry was aware, on some level, that he was, perhaps, a bit out of line, but he didn't care anymore. Anger had bubbled to the surface inside him, and he found that it did not want to stop flooding out from him, as though he had carried it inside for a long time and it just now decided to make an appearance. He did nothing to stop it. "I mean, if Voldemort wants to send snakes to my house, where I can't defend myself anyway, due to my muggle uncle locking away a wand that he's terrified of because he hates magic, since I'm no longer protected apparently by the blood wards, that's just fine, isn't it? He can hunt me down because Dumbledore didn't even know he had gained that information in the first place, even though Dumbledore usually knows about these things, since I need to be _protected_," Harry said sarcastically. Snape had crossed over to the cot like a large hovering bat, his teeth bared down at him. A vein was popping under his left temple.

"You are an even greater fool than I had previously thought, Potter! Why do you think that I was forced into your house this summer as an animagus? Do you really think that I enjoy wasting my precious time by keeping a look-out for you? You seem to have garnered an- inappropriate- amount of attention, Potter." Harry bit his tongue for a minute, confused by something, although he wasn't exactly sure what made him stop. He felt himself quieting. "That was you?" he asked. Snape growled.

"Yes Potter, why do you think that I- " He stopped. They both suddenly looked at each other. Abruptly, Snape turned and walked out of the room. Harry stared at it for another few minutes.

Later on in the evening, Harry glanced down at the potions that had been placed beside his bed with a frown that indicated he knew not what. One was a dark red, similar in its color to the rust one he'd had to- well, Snape had- used earlier on him, but, as he looked over to the window, the sliver in the he had looked out of before caught his attention- there was now a lovely red coming through it that he couldn't quite understand, mixed up with a few streaks of pink that now alighted his room a bit with its strange glow. Propelling himself to his elbow from the right side, he languidly stared at the odd phenomenon for five full minutes most likely, his jaw hanging open as though it had been spelled that way, to rest in that position for some inexplicable reason . . .

"Whatever fascinates you so about that window, Harry, is due to the fact that it has been spelled that way by a series of rather complicated enchantments, that I do not wish to elaborate on at the current moment." At the tone of that statement, Harry abruptly snapped his mouth closed.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "Indeed." As Harry struggled to sit up, Dumbledore's brows creased together, while he held up one hand. "While I am, of course, delighted that you are so obviously enthused to see me, I would feel rather more comfortable replicating that sentiment in a way that is more of a benefit than it is detrimental to you." Understanding the truth of that statement, Harry allowed himself to fall back a little. He would not dare to aggravate his left arm, no matter what the occasion was. Professor Dumbledore had placed himself in the chair next to his bed which Snape had earlier occupied, but Harry knew that he must have slipped in during a strange interval in which he had not seen him, for the day was indeed an odd one when he would not have noticed Albus Dumbledore's appearance. A deep blue set of robes adorned him, which shimmered every now and then when he moved his appendages. Harry found himself transfixed by the way they glimmered in the odd pink light. Now they looked maroon.

"Harry, now is not the time to question me about the different fixtures of this room which Severus has constructed in order to ensure the well being of you both."

"Our well being?" Harry tried to make sense out of the repetitive measure that Dumbledore had given him, because he had already heard it, from Snape earlier. He screwed his face at this. "Sir, can you tell me why I'm here?" he asked quickly. A sharp, stabbing, poker-like pain coursed through him at that moment, however, causing him to grit his teeth, hard.

"Listen to me, Harry." He leaned over in the chair, towards the cot, his blue, laser-beaming eyes transfixed upon him like little nails. Harry fell quiet, waiting for whatever Dumbledore wanted to tell him. "It is imperative that, while living here, you do everything that Professor Snape instructs you to. The time will come very shortly when I will not be able to visit you here again. You must do everything in your power to try to make a full recovery."

"Well of course, I will," Harry spluttered, aggrieved by Dumbledore's cryptic message, "I mean, no offense, or anything, sir," he said, "but why wouldn't I do what's necessary to see that I remain intact?" He stared at him. Did he really ask him whether he would t-

"You have been known to be rather overzealous on occasion, Harry, in your marvelous endeavors to ensure everyone's safety." He surveyed him over the tips of his half-moon, shimmering odd spectacles that cast an odd light. "While your efforts have been extremely admirable and of the nature that only a great wizard with the courage and determination of one with unparalleled strength, could harbor, you must not take actions into your hands. No matter how your instincts may tell you otherwise, _more lives will be in danger than one _if you do not listen to Professor Snape and I about everything we inform you, or . . . if necessary, we do not inform you of," he finished ominously. Those piercing blue eyes continued to shoot little lightning bolts at him.

Harry sighed. "Alright. Alright. I won't do anything that you- or- er- Professor Snape tell me not to do," he repeated mutinously. "But sir, could you explain to me about the snake? Why it was in the Dursley's house? It's just that Professor Snape didn't exactly elaborate on – " But Dumbledore held up a hand again. Once more he was on his feet. "Once more, Harry, I must apologize to your curiosities. Unfortunately I am not in the position to give you any more information, since my time here has run out. You will be able to contact me, however, if necessary, for I will not leave those under my care to fend off themselves the mercies of Lord Voldemort." Before he reached the door, he turned back to Harry with a look on his face that he had never seen there before. It looked almost sad, but that was an odd word to correlate with Dumbledore, in Harry's mind. "I am sorry that you were forced into this position Harry. For the sake of everyone who loves you, do all that he tells you to." He lips formed a soft smile. "If I know you as I feel that I have all these years, you will make a full recovery." Then, he was gone.

Harry stared at the door for the second time that day. It was then that he realized a rather- familiar mist once again had nudged up upon his elbows. "Ugh. Get off."

"Potter, what did I tell you about fighting the mist?" Snape had returned, and it didn't look as though he was in a good mood. Harry nearly growled with frustration. "It's creeping all over my skin, though, which is already damaged," he pointed out.

"And yet you insist upon fighting what will undoubtedly be a cure, if you are patient, Potter," he muttered under his breath.

"How do you know?" Harry asked. "It's getting better then?" he asked quickly.

"If you stop babbling nonsense to me then I will be able to assess it," Snape answered coolly. He proceeded to pull up the sleeve of Harry's exposed red shirt that he had donned before the entrance of the snake two nights previous- no, just the bedcovers. Harry was shirtless. How strange. He supposed that Snape had needed to spell his clothes off in order to treat anything. Snape prodded his wand up and down his arm at different intervals, while Harry gritted his teeth at the effects of this awful movement. While he worked, Harry took a quick peek at the appendage. He nearly cried yet again when he saw that some of the blackness appeared to have faded. "It's not as dark as it was," he murmured. He couldn't get his mouth to form the question that he needed to ask, so he simply sat and tried to bear the inescapable pain when yet another potion was spelled up and down the arm, primarily in the red streak that had not been visible to him at first. One trailed the top of the shoulder to his wrist though, now more obvious since the limb had turned a dark graying color. It nonetheless caused him to experience some nausea, and he turned, quickly.

"If you are about to be sick on me again Potter than I highly recommend that you polish your abilities to clean pickled toad juice for the remainder of the school year," Snape said lowly. Harry closed his eyes, ignoring him. After a minute the prodding stop, and Snape straightened back up. "It appears the degenerative qualities of the venom have been counteracted to some degree."

"Does that mean- what I think it- does that mean what I think it does?" Harry asked, flushing slightly as the words tumbled from him. A sound escaped Snape that was a bit rough and he replied, "The signs seem to indicate that you will keep your appendage, Potter." Harry was so happy he could have wept. Quickly he turned his head away, concentrating on leveling his breathing. He wasn't going to lose it- he wasn't going to lose his arm! Relief flooded through his whole system.

Movement beside his bed alerted him once more to the room as several clattering noises awakened him from the revelation, making him cringe. Snape thrust a nutrient potion under his nose, and then, before Harry could do anything more than splutter, had dumped the contents down his throat faster than he thought possible. Then he once again sought the door.

"Sir?" Harry asked. Snape turned. His cold, black eyes were unfathomable. "It- it's just- I wanted to say- er- thanks," Harry blushed, and immediately wanted to kick himself. The words had tumbled out before he could do anything about them. With one hand on the door's handle, Snape nodded swiftly, before leaving Harry to his own devices, and his thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

**Hi again. I really hope that everyone reading enjoys this. I've written it in a fashion that causes me to think in more of a detailed way about Harry and Snape's interaction, but, regardless of my own thoughts, I welcome yours more than gold, dear readers, so please feel free to send them in!**

**A special thanks to ****hazeldragon**** and ****13AkiraKuranXIII**** for their gifts on the last chap! Keep up the good work, guys, as they inspire and encourage this story along!**

**To the rest of you, know that I am grateful for your 'favorite' efforts and the press of a lovely button as well, but do remember, please, that there is one button on this site to which I am exceptionally partial to- oh, I won't say much about it, but search a bit! I know it's there!**

**Have a great week everyone,**

**Brooke ~**

**Chapter 4:**

Harry stared up at the ceiling, swimming as it was with large bats and little swirling tentacles. He couldn't make himself to feel anything except for the wanderings that tickled his brain, touched the fibers with its colors and images, before moving away again, back, and back and back . . . into a land that he couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams. Purple-winged bats with small, paint brush strokes of white gracing their small stomachs, flying up and down, then horizontally, then in diagonal motions, while little white candles with dark purple and perhaps black flames danced tantalizingly, bobbing to and fro. Along the outer edges of the wall in the arches of the ceiling, the crevices were filled, gold fringes racing and intertwining with silver lacing ribbons along the side. Harry never thought that angles would be so terribly sparkly, creating an aura of a grand image of rainbows. Rainbows now converged in those shadowy corners, creating streaks of light. All the light caused his head to thump, like a drum, a pounding that didn't want to stop, having too much fun- ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom . . .

"Wake up, Potter." And, snap. Out from the bottom of the deep needs for dreaming of the most powerful experiences that wizards could own, being in the dark clutches of the current ages, especially for one certain Harry Potter. Perhaps it was meant for him to come out of this bliss. There was never a minute of peace, was there? He opened his eyes to what he had never imagined that he would see- Snape standing over his bedside. Jolly for him, that was true. Snape was here.

"Potter surely you have more to express other than ogling at me."

"Well, I do sir, but could you explain that bat in the corner of your ceiling to me first?"

"What bat in the corner?" he snapped. Harry pointed to the far right, where he had seen the magical creature circling earlier that day. In dreams they had hung around the dendrites in his head, tickling his musing mantra, 'the bat, the bat,' while he had been in deep slumber, only dreaming, he thought all of those pretty imaginings of silver and sparkling motions had been conjured; then, he remembered the bat from earlier, surprised that he had indeed remembered it. When he opened his eyes to Snape's form, the reality of the animal's depiction manifested, for he knew that 'the bat, the bat,' simply wasn't in his dreams. He had been repeated that insane phrase, even with Snape standing there, and now, he knew why.

"It is real," he whispered.

"Potter, you are unfortunately delirious. It is therefore impossible for me to answer any questions that you are now asking, so I suggest that you keep your mouth closed," Snape said abruptly.

"No, there really is a bat in the corner," he protested. Before his very eyes the animal fluttered up and down, hanging in midair and twisting . . . he even thought that it looked directly at him for a minute or two. It almost seemed as though he were being mocked. But, so that Snape did not discount anything that he happened to say in his present mind, which did not present itself in the most coherent way, he understood, Harry simply did not say anything else. He began to feel like their needed to be something else in this room to keep him entertained, so that his mind did not wander.

"Sit up, Potter." Harry stared at him. "How do you expect me to do that?" he protested. Blood boiled in his already weak veins, from a deeply embedded chasm, now his anger surfaced. Snape's upper lip curled into a claw-like gesture. He said nothing, his black eyes calculating while Harry lay upon the bed. "You are not deaf, are you Potter?" Harry gritted his teeth, but averted his own eyes. Silence, gave him away.

"I thought not," Snape said softly. Throughout every fiber of his being, fury surged through each ventricle in his nervous system, pushing his body from its puppet-like state while flames animated his movements. A great precipice that he did not previously know made itself present, so that a boulder of strength moved him. Harry forgot everything, not being able to think of anything except for his desire to do- he didn't know what to Snape, so that he didn't have to hear him, so that he could shut him out.

"Ah, so you can listen to instructions when it pleases you," Snape said. Harry blinked. Then, confused, he realized that Snape's expression had changed slightly, though he couldn't interpret in what way exactly. Then he became aware of the white cocoon wrapped around his body, frustrated by the inhibitions to his ability to mov- he gasped. At that point he realized that his previously immobile limbs were moving of their own accord.

"I'm moving!" he cried. Harry did not care that Snape heard everything that he said, or the possible implications of shouting aloud. Quickly wrenching the sheets completely away from his left arm, he allowed his eyes to travel over the appendage, seeing that it had finally receded to its normal color. "Yes!" Such an overwhelming relief flooded through his system, that he did not know anything except for the fact that he had complete control of his body again. Breathing heavily, he flung himself off of the cot, intending to walk, somewhere, anywhere, to what place he didn't care. However, what he did not anticipate his body did for him, as it rebelled in loud, flaming painful cringes, aching, and what felt a bit like raw, flayed skin- when he rolled over onto the floor with a loud, 'thunk.'

"Tut, tut. Really now, Potter," Snape sneered. Harry, flat on the floor stomach down, had both of his eyes clenched shut, his brain prattling at him on what a stupid idea had crossed him during that moment of not using his head. Okay, that probably did not result in the best manner. He concentrated on breathing as his world spun dizzyingly. He did not count the time between lying there, and the next minute when he had fallen onto the twisted sheets. "You are not to overexert yourself for the next-few-days-Potter." Harry found the ceiling particularly fascinating while Snape's words droned through his brain. "I am extremely surprised that you were able to move far enough to attempt a major undermining senseless action, but then . . . I should not be surprised," he said coolly. Harry was not actually sure what Snape meant by this.

"Er . . . "

"Think, Potter!" And now he looked extremely angry, which confused Harry. "Why would my own precious work on your physical body be so obviously undermined by Dumbledore's Golden Boy," he said sourly, mouth forming over the words like a garish piece of rogue cauliflower that had rotted. But something was odd- could he not be more angry than the subject merited? The way he had voiced the sentence implied that Snape meant more than the bed incident, but what?

"I'm not sure what you mean," he mumbled, his eyes looking away in the distance somewhere, trying to avoid the distracting bat, while curiosity burned throughout him even so.

"Keep on the bed," Snape hissed, his eyes narrowed, "I have better things to do," he said, swiping several long strands of hair back, now sounding curt, "You will do everything I tell you Potter. Is that clear?" Harry stared at him. "Yes," he said finally. "But . . . " yet his words fell off, like part of a cliff in the great roaring sea beneath it. So much needed to be broken down into plain English. Harry needed a few minutes to process all that had occurred, and at the moment, the shock that his physical body had undergone knew no end to the relief at the end of that venture. The feeling vibrated throughout his being. But he looked back at Snape. And his stomach growled furiously. Harry felt a flush rise into his cheeks. Snape's wand flicked, so that two flasks flew onto silver platters before him, one of which he immediately recognized as pumpkin juice.

"You will not be able to digest any solid foods at the current moment. Do not think about leaving the capacity you are in, until the time I tell you to, Potter. Is that perfectly clear?" His eyes bored into Harry's.

"Yes, sir," he said after a moment. The fathomless black eyes narrowed momentarily. Then Snape left him with his meal before extremely sore, but at any rate mobile arms that provided enough for Harry, in just that state. He downed the two flasks with a relish that instantly gratified his stomach. Upon the window a light shadow fell, gracefully taking the form of a bird with various wings that whirred and whirred, becoming a blot, and then falling away, peeping beneath the bottom of the shade near the side, where Harry could just make out the tawny brown of a single owl, that gathered itself together like a package of brown wrapping, and there sat. It pecked on the window several times, but Harry glanced furtively about the room with a heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. A voice inside his head warned him not to take the matter into his own hands. He chose, therefore, to ignore the distraction. Perhaps he could test himself to discover the extent of his abilities currently, which would at least give him reason enough to make his way to the loo, since that trip was at the moment rather appealing. He ripped the covers in their bunched state down towards his knees with an uncommonly grotesque effort, tentatively giving his toes a few jiggles.

Slowly pushing his posterior toward the edge of the bed while gritting his teeth, as his body flushed with a surge of the agony that swept up through his entire system, Harry quietly forced his way to the midpoint between floor and bedspread- at least now he maintained more control than he'd had, just moments before while laying immobile on the bed he'd been in for . . . . days. Yes, days. He hung onto the cot with a stoic grip that failed more quickly than he thought, the tenacious hold weakening, in a siphoning state of magic that dwindles into a nonexistent state, what a terrible thought it would be. As though he were turning into a squib. His physical power somehow left as quickly as that work had returned to make him labor for a few minutes. Now he could no longer work those muscles, and they left him, the very muscles which he had never fathomed he would miss. One never misses working, either. Strange to think that atrophy would cause Harry to feel like he wanted what he could have never imagined losing. He slid down to the soft carpet beneath him, less energetically this time, landing face down.

"Ohhhh," he muttered. The owl still pecked upon the window but he did not turn his head to offer it a glance. From the other side of the room, his own snowy white owl that never came out during the summer months glared at him with what seemed to be a failed attempt at shooting him a wicked curse. "I know, Hedwig. I'm sorry. There's nothing that I can do, and you would think that I could find an obvious way to convince- "

Footsteps thudded against the floor outside Harry's room all of a sudden, in a clip, clip clip rather across the hardwood that apparently lined the hallway outside his door. Harry found himself to be disoriented, which misfortune rooted him to the spot where he did not attempt to struggle yet again, making an even greater fool out of himself. The door flung open, revealing the tall black silhouette Harry now looked up at with growing apprehension, beads of sweat trickling, one by one down his forehead in the aftermath of his second fall.

"So," Snape announced coldly. "Once again, Potter, your overly-large head has seen fit to disobey instructions." The loud, ringing voice sounded triumphant to Harry, rather than merely angry or- whatever Snape portrayed.

"I didn't- " he gasped. "I didn't disobey, I was just- " In a flash, Snape swooped down upon him with a bat-like movement, thereupon to stand with his arms crossed over him, one of his hard black boots tapping into the carpet right in front of Harry's nose. "If you would just let me- I saw an owl, and then I needed to go to the loo, so I tried to get up." He shrugged, rather nonchalantly, glaring towards the side while he lay on the carpet.

"And it did not occur to you, Potter, to call someone more fit and suited for the job than you appear to be?" he sneered. And with that, Harry turned his head to look directly at Snape.

"No, it didn't," he said boldly.

"No," Snape repeated, dangerously. Silence fell between them. "Do you know why I am giving up my time for this tedious job, Potter? Has it ever occurred to you while you were sitting around mulling over the best possible ways to undermine everything that anyone has ever done to assist you, that my time has been given up for a reason?" he asked smoothly. His black eyes bored into Harry's. He said nothing. "No? Then perhaps, an explanation is warranted . . . " The expression on Snape's face was unnerving. Still, a small sense of satisfaction welled up within Harry at this, so he found no reason, really, to say anything back to him. But nevertheless, he did not quite fancy using the floor as his chair, were he really able to use one.

"Er," he said, blushing. Snape looked down his hooked nose. Without a word, he flicked his wand quickly, moving Harry back onto the bed in the most unceremonious position. Harry glared, but he was smart enough to know that now could not be the time to do anything which would inhibit him from information.

"Foolish. Did you think it wise to bring out the magical side of your person in the middle-of-the-summer?" Snape growled in a low voice. "Did you not think that it may attract unwanted visitors?" he said in a clipped tone. Harry looked up now with confusion gracing a face that spoke an amateur in volumes. "Am-a-teur." Snape flipped his wand over in a carefully subtle, cruel motion. "A wizard should never reveal his position, even one with your calibre Potter." Harry said nothing to him while dawning comprehension slowly made its way steadily to his brain, even though he hadn't actually used magic. A sickening feeling. He thought he could hear the wind rustle, but of course, this was a folly of his own imagination.

"We'd only walked down there for a minute." He gulped. "Dudley needed some time to think over his new dieting measures, so I told him that I'd walk to the corner store with him. The summer before this you know that he had been attacked by dementors, so I told him that I'd walk down to that corner, where I knew that he would be able to look at the choices he- mentioned to me that he feared the dementors." Harry spoke rapidly, blinking quickly enough to fight the battle of a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"And you did not think that a wizard never speaks of magic in front of muggles beyond the home, Potter?" Harry cringed.

"Well that's not exactly what I meant."

"You did not think that anything might possibly put the Dark Lord on the alert for slips, that they might be stationed around the area to carry out his wishes, near to the place where the Boy-Who-Lived resides during his summers!" Harry paled. Why had it not occurred to him before that that was exactly what Lord Voldemort might do? He felt that something heavy from earlier, now grow in the pit of his stomach.

"And every wizard or witch in the Order of the Phoenix would be at hand to help you, of course, in the case that you did not display the sense that a wizard of even mediocre magic would. You were found out! _I_ was implemented within the home of the Dursleys so that nothing would transpire, but unfortunately it did." Harry thought rather vaguely that Snape did not mean the word unfortunately, but that was quite a moot point at the moment. He turned away, not wanting to say anything, although perhaps he did not know what to say at all. A hallow thumping coursed through his veins, but at the moment he needed some time to think. He could not believe wholeheartedly that all of the events had taken place, that it wasn't all just a bad dream, that he was inside the house of Severus Snape in the form of an enchantment of sorts, with all manner of complicated spells making it humble and lowly. Hidden supposedly. Could not entirely believe that they would be completely safe. And much as he was surprised, he found himself rather concerned about the fact that even Snape was endangered by his very existence. He wanted to fall into a hole and hide away, to become someone else entirely, to be anyone but who he was, the Boy-Who-Lived. For what? To cause this? Everything in his life took a negative turn. For once, he wanted to be anyone but Harry. He could not say anything.

"What have you to explain, Potter?" he spat at him, spittle flying from his mouth onto Harry's bare arm. Nothing. He didn't have anything at all to say. He felt a burning, uncomfortable sensation below his navel, and he cursed it. "I need to go to the loo." There was a change in Snape's expression. Had it anything to do with apparent surprise Harry was not sure. But he did not stop to contemplate it. He just glared angrily at the wall in front of him, hating himself, wishing that he could do anything to get out of the predicament he now found to be more humiliating, and disorienting, than ever. He had not brought himself here. _But you did walk down to the store with Dudley_. He shook his head furiously. He looked back at Snape, and noticed with some satisfaction that the man was breathing heavily. His black eyes darted towards the hallway, but Harry nervously kept his head turned very slightly. He knew that Snape was calculating, probably hoping against all hope that there would be a way around the situation, but Harry put his own hands to a rest in front of him, staring at them. He knew that his face betrayed more about his thoughts however than he may have wished. But he could do nothing else, because in a minute his own arm had been caught in a vice-like grip.

"Ow!" he yelped. "It hurts," he angrily said, his teeth gritted. Snape's face looked slightly pale, covered in a film of sweat that made his lank hair wrap around his head like wings of a bat that had died, and Harry felt momentarily disgusted. He closed his eyes, and the grip loosened after a minute. "What is your level of pain, Potter?" The words shifted throughout his brain in some kind of semblance that he did not understand fully. Like building blocks that were put together the wrong way in some strange fashion. Snape stood beside the bed waiting, watching Harry's reaction, but he did not know of a proper response to give. A curse, that he did not understand, made him want to hide his face. He couldn't quite put a finger up to the idea revolving in an odd, wiggling form in his own mind, while he glanced back at Snape seeing the many lines scattered around his black marbles, marbles that gleamed in a manner of rivers coming together with a glistening speed, rolling, rolling together, sparkling beneath the sun, making Harry- Harry was going cross-eyed. The moment that the snake bit him, or rather directly afterwards, he'd been beneath swinging chandeliers, his face drawing close over his prone figure in much the same fashion . . . but, he had blacked out all of the memories of that moment until now. He had that connection.

"Potter!" Harry shook his head. "Sorry. My pain is relatively low. I didn't even feel anything until you touched it," he said honestly. Snape drew a breath. "I need you to grab my arm then, Potter." Harry did as he bid him, clutching the black-swathed arm roughly before being hauled to his feet, or rather yanked off of the bed. Falling partially behind as Snape walked towards the door at a steady speed, he allowed himself to be half-dragged out into the hallway, but when they entered into a damp, and rather narrow, dark passageway beyond lit by various torches that flickered half-heartedly in their holders, the bottom half of his legs gave out abruptly. Utterly mortified by the reaction, he muttered,

"I'm not able to go any further at the moment. If we could just rest for a minute." Snape watched him, with a look on his face that unnerved Harry. He looked almost curious. Harry had closed his eyes, his breathing becoming steadily more shallow, but he could feel Snape's eyes boring into him. He felt oddly out of place, rather like one of the grimy potion's experiments scattered along one of the many walls in the professor's potions office that he had glared at longer than anyone perhaps ever should. The thought struck him in a humorous manner, though the reason for this he could not, in his life, fathom ever. He opened his eyes carefully. With a start, he realized that his left arm was being supported still, by Snape. A cautious question tickled Harry's mind, which he grabbed at, opening it up as though it were an oyster with a pearl inside.

"When you had taken me away from the Dursleys, you gave me an instruction before we apparated," he started hesitantly. Snape's eyes narrowed, but silence continued to sustain the man. "You had said something to the effect of wanting me to grab your arm. But then I blacked out, although I think that I was still semi-conscious." His eyes narrowed to slits. "What do you mean you think you were semi-conscious?" Harry met Snape's eyes fully now. "I remember you speaking to the Dursleys." Snape didn't answer for a moment. Finally, he said, now sounding cool and collected, "you are more perceptive than I have given you credit for. You are essentially correct." When Harry opened his mouth to speak, Snape continued, "I did not, contrary to what you may believe Potter, curse them. The Dursleys," he sneered, "were placed under a powerful enchantment which the headmaster himself created for their safekeeping." Harry closed his mouth abruptly. "Oh." He had nothing to say to that.

"Potter, if you are done asking me questions than I suggest we continue." The look he gave Harry was a board plank of wood that droned on forever in a mask of emotionless flavor, but the flavor still had curiosity, and Harry wanted to know why. He allowed his arm to be grabbed once more though, as Snape dragged him down the remainder of the dank hall. As they neared the end of it another purple bat flew out of one of the corners he hadn't been able to scout out, of course, since he was unprepared, whipping so close to the shaven head depiction of 'a close shave,' that Harry had to duck as it literally brushed the tip of his hair back.

"Sir, I don't mean to pry or anything," Harry said swiftly, hoping against hope that his mouth might not be spelled shut, "but are you aware that you have bats zooming around your house?" He was bewildered by the appearance of a second one, looking back in order to see it yet again flying in a mad beeline towards him. Of course the last bat had not attacked him. Snape had turned swiftly on his heel. Harry's eyes roved upward to his drawn wand, waiting with anticipation for the flying animal to be cursed properly, but for some reason that escaped Harry's notice as a wizard of his apparent state of savvy, the wand was not lifted. Okay, granted that he did not normally expect Snape to be doing anything that would defend him, but surely he was as annoyed by the bat as he was? Actually, the man looked down his sallow nose at Harry himself.

"That bat! It's flying towards the room on the right over there," Harry said quickly. Snape glanced at him before his eyes flickered back towards the end of the hall, the look on his face suspicious, calculating, mistrusting. "There is nothing . . . over there," he said, drawing out the last word, before looking again at Harry. "Yet still." The look that he gave him was odd. "You believe that you saw it, don't you Potter?" He seemed to be talking to himself. Harry's own breathing was erratic, but it began to slow down eventually, especially once he realized that he had just spoken in a manner that was probably uncalled for, at least given the circumstances. "Curious indeed." Something in the manner of communication made Harry slightly nervous, but he could not have anticipated the feeling of being watched continually. As soon as he had woken up in this house he had felt an odd way about everything that was in the room, like Voldemort had placed an enchantment of his own making within his breast. Harry shook himself, hard. He did not feel as he should feel, and a great, roiling burning that he had never even come close to experiencing in the past threatened to overtake him. Something was horribly wrong.

Snape's eyes had widened marginally upon the revelation Harry had made, although he knew that providing any information would not have been from he himself. Snape must be performing legilimency, he thought to himself. He could tell that he had seen some of what Harry had been thinking. Harry had made a complete idiot out of himself, hadn't he? He smirked down at him.

"Come with me, Potter." He did not want to go anywhere with Snape particularly, although without a doubt this most likely had become the best solution at the moment, so he reluctantly followed his potions professor, well half-followed, down the length of the dark hall. The candle to his right flickered several quiet times before dying away into the blackness or rather the gray that colored up the back section of the area before a door looming into apparent infinity, shadowed in all of the broken crevices. Cobwebs of every variation told a tale of spiders that had lived in the house for a longer time frame than Snape had been living. Involuntarily, Harry suppressed a shudder. He still felt slightly woozy. Earlier he'd been about to fall, but now he merely had weakened into babbling nonsense at Snape, hadn't he? This surely meant he had been cursed by Voldemort, without a doubt.

Why was he thinking these thoughts? Someone or something had made an impression upon him in a dark manner, but before he could do anything more than make a mental note of that ridiculous notion, he had been shoved into an enclosure about the size, from what he could rightly determine in his _happy and giddy_ turn of the mind- of a closet.

"Hey!" he protested angrily. "What- "

"Shhh." Snape placed a finger to his lips with careful precision. A light brightened the room in a matter of moments as he waved his wand, illuminating sickly yellow wallpaper, bolstering many different chairs, broken down, chiseled pieces of unused furniture and the worst kind of storage shelves in a dilapidated mess, blasted to pieces. Fear flickered across Snape's white face for a ghosting minute, so light in passing that Harry almost didn't catch it, but he nonetheless saw the unexpected look, that caused fear such as he had never imagined run through his spine.

"Say not a word," he hissed to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**{A/N: Hi everyone. I hope that you are all having an excellent week. Chapter 5 is up a bit early, and I would love it above all else if you simply enjoy it and let me know that you did. It's been marvelous writing about these two characters so far. I've even thought, every now and then, of dressing up as Snape for Halloween, but I think I'm perhaps too short and kind looking to pull it off. Perhaps one of you, however, can consider yourself more fortunate?**

**My most sincere thanks to ****hazeldragon****, ****AkiraKuranXIII****, and ****Saissister**** for their reviews on the last chap, and to those who 'favorited' this, you have my gratitude as well.**

**And now, without further ado I give you Chapter 5 . . .}**

**{Disclaimer: It's not mine as you know}**

**Chapter 5:**

"Perhaps he thought it was a good idea," said Snape smoothly. The room seem cold and damp, silent to any observer and yet to Harry it quite meant a simple mood change. The brusque, rotund voice fluctuated with a whine that could only mean Dolohov. A bumbling monstrous heavy vehicle. The bats flying around the ceiling could not have been sent by him of course, for there was no way that he might have lifted his wand to cast any such curse, from the sound of his voice. The rough edge lifted the hairs on Harry's back in a sensation that crept up to his neck, causing him to grimace from the effect of listening to someone who had been brought into this world with a machine's speech commodity. It made him want to forget that he was locked in a closet. Which rather reminded him of the cupboard. Harry knew without any question or remnant of annoying doubt in his head that the Death Eater in Snape's house had no reason to care about bats, cursed or otherwise, nor the fact that Harry could feel a change in his cupboard in the tone of the interaction between the two men. He shivered in a damp that crept, to his very bones.

"Had it been a good idea then the Potter boy would have been found several times over." The man made a smacking noise with loud lips that Harry could nearly feel, and tried hard not to imagine the sensation.

"Have you any reason to question what the Dark Lord believes to be a good idea?" Snape asked, now impatiently. "I have said before that I have been his most trusted spy . . . can it be, that you perhaps do not yourself harbor the extreme _loyalty_ that the Dark Lord wants his followers to posses?" His voice was a silken thread. Silence met the words. "No?" Dolohov muttered something incoherent.

"That is all good and well, because I am sure that he would not want you to be in the unsavory position in which you have placed yourself. Questioning my abilities to follow his wishes implies a- ah- rather interesting work of the wand, if what you say were to be the case." A loud thrash of what sounded as though it could be a hand brushed carelessly along the wall. Harry cocked his head, his eyebrows drawn together in a fluid effort.

"What you need to take from the Dark Lord, Snape, besides that particular potion that he has supposedly said he requires assistance with, is what I am questioning." There was a pause, before sounds indistinct were uttered to Harry's ears . . .

" . . . would be extremely clever of you had not anyone else in your position offered to come." A loud, muffled bodily throw against one of the walls made an uncertain lack in understanding of the exchange. Harry strained to hear what anyone in that time said, but the phase lost so much information that he completely lost the thread of the conversation then. He sighed loudly, disappointed, while a door slammed shut with a din that shook the walls of the closet he sat hunched in. In less space than probably expanded across Snape's floor it seemed, Harry had been forced into a ball where he thankfully found a meager corner of his very own, when the door being wrenched open shoved him crudely back. A long, thin pale hand with spidery veins followed the action with an almost _eloquent_ ease, pulling the scruff of Harry's collar up, before stumbling out into the corridor caused him a much more distracting scene as Snape pinned him up against the wall. He staggered several times in succession, his breathing harsh, laden like a thick, disgusting, black cake. The face of his potions professor was throbbing, the blood pulsing so hard through the tight, white skin, that Harry thought it quite probable that the veins would burst over him. His teeth were bared in a frightening display.

"What did you hear, Potter?" he snarled. Harry struggled against his grasp. "N-nothing," he lied. All that could be distinguished was the sound of deep breathing. Finally Snape's grip on him slackened. His black eyes scrutinized every inch of Harry's body, loathing etched into every feature of his face, before the eyelids flickered. Harry stayed silent, looking to the side, his entire body tense. He straightened, boring into him as though he could read his mind. Harry tried to determine what his next move should be, because the portrait presented now did not appear to give many options. He could either stay firmly planted where he stood or- black robes whipped before his gaze, making him think that he could perhaps swim in a black sea. Then he realized that, no matter how angry Snape was, to his great distaste he still needed some assistance-

"I still don't know where the loo is, Professor," he said in a muted tone, watching Snape carefully for any changes in his demeanor.

"Come with me, Potter," he snapped, while robes spun around the enclosure nearly knocking Harry backward into the wall once more, since this perhaps encapsulated the first time that he had come in direct contact with the robes of one of his professors, and did not realize, vaguely . . . that Albus Dumbledore had provided the Hogwarts professors with such heavy garments. This could not have been more than top brainwork in one of the most bizarre situations, he thought to himself wryly. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore would have been completely pleased with the way his mind worked had he known this that Harry could be top-notch in some of the most sticky situations. What an odd idea that was! Gingerly he removed himself from the angle, finding a bizarre pleasure in walking down the hall in a gamboling gait, which Professor Snape would not otherwise have made into a repugnant, odiferous crawl of a slug. Had Harry walked in a normal way he would have been- "What is taking you so long?" Snape snapped, turning. In actuality, his limbs were the cause, for they did not seem able to cooperate with him in the way that they should, in that same way that his mind was rambling so strangely. Along the wall, a racing shadow tickled his inner fears, causing him to find the most atrocious birds, owls, and figures there beside him, lingering everywhere it seemed in Snape's house.

"My legs don't seem to work," he said through gritted teeth. He found a savage pleasure in slowing Snape down for a few moments. Snape moved back toward him, hovering in one place as some great-winged bat would, in a cephalous, an engorged spider, ugh, a mean- those shadows! Those bats! "You said I had been cursed- " Snape waited impatiently. "Sir," Harry spat out. A sly, chilling twist in his lips forced Harry's eyes away from his face.

"You," Snape said slowly, "require an explanation." He paused, his tongue slowly moving across his lips in a dark fashion. "But, unfortunately," he said softly, "time is of essence at the moment, so I would suggest that you first take care of your needs _before_ we move toward an explanation you are satisfied with. That will undoubtedly take more time than is relatively our game." He smirked. Yet, in the current state of his emotionless mask something else stirred- fear, perhaps? Harry was unnerved. The door to the right slammed against the adjoining wall, with an extremely loud reverberation, clanging through the old broken down, dilapilated- er, perhaps it was simply a house too dark for his liking. Harry shivered as a cold wind that he did not notice previously swept through his very bones. "Go." Snape crossed his arms over his chest while Harry sauntered into the room, wondering at the biting wind that crept over his arms. The bathroom was layered with blue marbled work that had become rusted so badly over time that the wind in the house perhaps had crusted it to the current state. He looked up at a hanging ledge over him in a rather precarious dip as it bore down toward him.

When he retreated from the oddly cold room, he quickly tried to straighten back into some kind of person resembling some clutch on life itself, and not a sliding limber chicken going down the wall without any control. How did the room turn out a gust of wind seemingly unconnected to everything around it? To ventilate seemed somewhat a stretch, he allowed . . . as he slid down the wall, when his arm roughly fell into a semi-half, biting fold at his side. Harry winced at the pain bleeding into his swelled arm, still slightly purplish and a mite sore. He did not ask about the loo or have the foolish nonsensical brain thankfully, to talk about anything at all, for he had some sense.

"Potter, if you do not listen to me or anything that has the good fortune to come out of my mouth, then you will be very sorry indeed."

"No, sir," Harry muttered, glaring at Snape as he trailed within his encircled grasp of a lock of sorts down the hall, toward another adjoined section which opened onto the left foyer area emanated by a large open space that did not look at all like a foyer. Candles in the room glowed an eerie yellow color of chipped parchment sitting for ages in their holders, but come to think of it, the house may have been as old as any of the ghosts at Hogwarts. Snape pushed him forcibly down onto an old worn out, tweed-styled brown couch.

"Sir, I was wondering if you could explain that visit a little while ago, since I- " he quickly became tongue twisted though, and opened his mouth, but for all that he attempted his mouth could have been a mere hole where bats in the room looked for open space, for a hideaway perhaps, as there were now about twenty- maybe thirty- hanging from the most imprecise places throughout the room, and Harry wondered bewilderedly if they were coming in from outside. "There's," he swallowed, while looking directly at Snape, "bats in the room." Snape provided him with a blank look.

"You and I both find ourselves in a certain predicament which does not, much as you may feel it otherwise, lend its trust to the creative and unquestionably insignificant fancies of your mind." Harry watched Snape carefully, before he moved to the edge of the seat, gripping the edges hard. Maybe he was finally getting to the bottom of this . . .

"You have been spelled by the most powerful Occlumens known to wizards. The Dark Lord has figured out in fact, how to gain access to your mind through the connection which you and he share, by providing you with false images designed to glean information from you about the Order of the Phoenix." Images crossed Harry's mind, sounds and other effects. He recalled all that he had heard about Snape's conversation with Dolohov. "You mean that he can get into my mind and frighten- "

"Do not tell me what I mean Potter," he said rather boredly, although his expression was tight, the lines of his face taut. "But you are essentially correct. Whatever you see projected in my house, which is utterly ridiculous, is in fact dangerous. And since there is no time available to explain this phenomenon, it is enough that we know, that these manifestations will develop according to your state of mind. You will find yourself, in short," he said impatiently as Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, "that they will work towards the purpose that I have mentioned, against the Order." Harry jerked one of his legs involuntarily, although he could not say anything about the reason for his spasm. At first he thought he had mistaken it, but then, the sound again went through his mind, so he gasped out loud. "I- "

_Harry. You remember how when you were young Dudley pushed you off your bicycle? You were not even three yet, Harry. Is there a way that you could get even with the Dursleys? Yes, there is, Harry. Just let me help . . . _

"No!" he gasped. He clutched his head in his hand as the voice wavered and finally tapered off.

"What did you see Potter?" Finally, as his breathing calmed Harry looked up at Snape. "I heard- someone was talking. I don't know who it was, but I think it was a woman. But it didn't sound like any male or female that I have ever known."

"What did they tell you?" he asked him sharply. Harry breathed deeply in and out. He felt slightly dizzy, for his head spun sickeningly, as though a million hammers were pounding into his brain with sudden fury. But he just shook his head. "I really don't know," he said honestly. "I mean, it didn't make any sense, but it told me to get even with the Dursleys." He looked at him dubiously. Snape's eyes had widened a fraction, and he looked tenser than usual. Abruptly, he turned on a rapid spin of his heel towards the door at the front end of the house, framing the side of the small foyer area. He lifted his wand, making Harry tense up, waving it over him muttering several incantations that he did not recognize. A flash of gold, and then blue trailed in front of him, before Snape banished them with a wave. "Since you are able to travel Potter, we will use side-along apparition in the next twenty-four hours. The effects of it are too risky to go when you are in your present state."

"Why are we apparating out of here though? Didn't Dumbledore say that I need to stay here?"

_"For the time being." _Harry bit his tongue. Surely Snape did not think that it was impossible to tell him what the Death Eaters wanted because it was necessary? No. He was sure that Professor Dumbledore had wanted him to be informed, unless . . . there was a niggling voice in the back of Harry's mind telling him that Dumbledore simply had not been made aware yet of the situation that had been occurring.

"But what if I'm cursed while we're waiting?" he cried, frustration edging its way to the boiling pot of his own mind, wallowing there forever. He couldn't shake the fear that he would be unable to fight it off, especially if whatever Dolohov had done to Snape's house was similar to the imperious curse. "These visions that I'm seeing, and the voices are trying to make me do things," he said slowly, staring furiously at Snape. "Don't you feel as though it's possible that whatever Voldemort placed on this house, or what the Death Eaters have- "

"It is none of your concern Potter, who or what is involved with the business that characterizes within the house itself. Because you are not able to, however, fight off the effects of the curses, at least, thus far," he said, and Harry felt rage boiling within him, "we will be leaving shortly. I might also add to your knowledge store- the ah- fact, that had you not blurted out what you had earlier this summer, you would not be here, Potter." With that, Snape left him to his own devices by leaving through the entrance into another room that Harry supposed served as the living area. Well, admittedly Harry could not argue with the notion that he had completely ruined more than summer at the Dursleys were that possible, so, it would not suit for him to lose his temper, especially with the heavy feeling of guilt that he would never be able to ignore again, probably for the entirety of his life. A clatter ahead spiraled down in the form of a bat through an unseen hole!

Through the gates, of the faraway distance beyond the section of the small house created a tunnel vision somehow to Harry's mind, because even though he had never in his life of course seen Snape's house nor anything outside of it, he was now able to determine the trap of darkness that played on outside shadows gracing the walk along the archway, trailing to the edge of the dilapidated street with a sign, 'Spinner's End,' there labeled.

He arrived back within his own mind miles away, within the little claptrap of space that Snape had denoted as 'a foyer.' So he felt that a small part of him were about to explode, but he could not stop the onslaught when he put his head in his hands, and yelled fiercely,

"Your house has been doing what should never be done to anyone by allowing me to see the street! Isn't that great? I have a two-way vision of the outside and inside now too, because I can see both! The house has a mind of its own . . . " he ceased yelling, but glared at the walls around him, thinking of the bat's eyes hidden somewhere in their depths that he might be able to frighten, perhaps, if he glared really hard or . . . well, ridiculous as it were, he did not have anything else to do. It did not appear that Snape had heard anything that he had called out, thankfully, even though Harry did not necessarily care if he did at this exact moment. Of course since his voice had been muffled into his arms such was not probable anyway. Harry sighed. He couldn't believe that he had caused this for himself, but while he looked around Severus Snape's house, it struck him odd that no magical oddities enveloped any of the scenes presented, and his bitter train of thought was distracted momentarily by his curiosity. From the opening view he had of the living area, just beyond this quarter, nestled a battered couch, two chairs, and a fireplace covered in soot and dust. A few flames were flickering in the grate, bobbing up and down teasingly as Harry watched them, before turning about and twisting, changing slightly their hue, becoming green. Harry gasped. After he had opened and closed his mouth twice from shock, he quickly removed himself from the settee, ignored the ignominious pain throughout his system, and ducked behind the piece of furniture.

He heard the person cough several times, brushing off his robes by the sound of it, and supposedly straighten.

"Lucius," Snape said smoothly, sounding a bit detached. "What brings you here during this time?" Harry started. He had not realized that Snape had entered.

"Just one of the discussions we had earlier concerning a Harry Potter who had somehow learned the ropes of this operation." Lucius let out a low chuckle. Harry's hands were balled into fists tightly. He did not move-

"The boy brought us directly to the Dursleys home," Snape said. "He knew nothing about the events that are now unfolding."

"No," Lucius agreed. "The Potter boy had no idea that Mulciber was lying in wait for him, nor what his actions would accomplish. However, mocking Potter, as tempting as that may be, is not why I am here." Snape did not say anything. Robes swished around to the side of Harry's peripheral vision, although he scooted back into the tightest ball that he could create with his sore body, behind the shielding couch, hopefully . . .

"I am not sure if you are referencing the operation that the Dark Lord has encouraged me to take part in," Snape said smoothly, "but I can assure you that there need be no hesitation about the plans being executed. I am not privileged to give anyone the information, as that is, has remained, solely between the Dark Lord and I."

"I am not asking for information about what is between you and the Dark Lord. Merely requesting that Dolohov not be allowed to enter your home. I must confess myself surprised that I could enter into it, with all of the protective wards you have placed arou-nd, it," Lucius said softly.

"If you are insinuating that I would deliberately try to block the most loyal Death Eaters from my home, then rest assured that the only obstacles refer solely to those such as Dolohov," Snape said smoothly. "He came earlier in order to question my loyalties, mentioning a plan that he had become party to concerning the Potter boy. I am certain however, that this simply means he has not been privy to the plans revolving around Harry Potter, because the Dark Lord has not entrusted him with any information. There are several within the Dark Lord's ranks that he is uncertain about when relying his most- _involving priorities."_

"What of the potion that he has mentioned?"

"The potion in question will assist the Dark Lord with some of his important tasks at the moment." Snape's voice grew dangers, and softer after a minute. "Surely you know this already though?" There was silence for a moment. Harry heard Malfoy mutter a type of sibilant hiss.

"No one has infiltrated my home save for yourself," Snape said in a low voice. He sounded extremely angry now.

"Of course, Severus. I do not have any doubt that you are being honest. Then you will not be providing any information to the other Death Eaters." Snape did not answer him.

"Goodbye, Severus." In the space that it took him to say it, Lucius was gone. Harry did not dare move from his current place. He moved back with an eagle gesture as Snape's footsteps approached. He looked up. His face was difficult to read. Harry did not dare press for any details about the exchange, for his breathing was labored, ragged before the field of vision he harbored of the dragon-clad, black boots, and he knew that he had escaped a situation- roughly.

"Come, Potter," he said. "We are leaving." Harry did not question it, did not offer any information about his own ideas. He simply grasped the black robed arm extended to him, and they both disappeared in a whirling of colors . . .

"No more time has passed, Potter, than what you thought had taken place. Say nothing to anyone. We are not ourselves."

"What was that, sir? What did you say?" Harry blurted, running to catch up with Snape, who had already gained the end of the short block onto which they had apparated. Its style was much the same as the broken down level of sectioned houses that composed Spinner's End.

"Say nothing to anyone. We are invisible," Snape said in a quiet tone. "We have gone back three days in time, to the point at which you were bitten by Seraphina. Thus, you are not aware of any time change." Harry suddenly gasped.

"This is General Park Lane! We are next to Private Drive." Immediately Harry knew the old area which had been constructed in the early eighteenth century, at least a century itself before Private Drive had been thought up by people of the constructive nature of his Uncle Vernon.

"Recognize it. Hone it. Place it in your memory," he drawled in a low tone. Snape straightened to his full height before turning quickly. "This will be our apparition point after we have addressed what needs to be completed."

"Which is what?" Harry asked. Snape glared at him.

"Sir," he added.

"I am going to the street on which you were last seen," he hissed fluently. A leaf fell on Harry's face which he brushed aside, from an old maple high above him. He pointed one of his skeletal fingers right towards him. "You are going to stay in a concealed area- "

"But we are invisible!" Harry interrupted angrily.

"- and explain to your own mind why you allowed this to happen," he sneered, his words concisely ending the conversation to Harry's ears-

Snape dragged him to a dark enclosure while Harry curiously spotted various instruments of the park eyes roving to climbing vines on familiar trees while he was allowing himself to be dragged. Perhaps it would be better, though, not to mention it. Not bring up anything at that moment. Snape ordered him to a bench behind one of the largest oaks in the muggle park which was flavored with the strangest objects of the imagination that Harry had ever seen, simply because of the brutal abuse in particular the seesaw and the stairs of the slide suffered, by the demonic hands of rogue teens. Harry watched rather apprehensively as Snape's shimmering black robes swept through the gloom of the evening towards the other direction, than that from whence they came from.

"Wait!" he blurted. Snape turned, his eyebrows lifted. Harry hurried to catch up with him. "How long will you be?" he asked in a rush. "I need to know so that I'll be able to do something if- "

"The time I will not approximate for you, Potter, since knowing the future is not possible." He looked at Snape, confused.

"But," he said slowly, befuddled, and now talking as though the potions professor were dense but trying not to let it show, "What is something happens, sir? I mean, no one else knows that you are going to that store, right? What am I supposed to do if you don't return?" Snape's face was blank. Harry did not think he would answer him.

"Then send a patronus," he said brusquely.

"Send a- " he started, but Snape was already halfway down the street before the sentence was halfway out of his mouth. "Fine," he muttered. He didn't even know whether it was worth it to worry about the complexities of this whole set up, since it was entirely in Snape's control, no matter how bitter he may be about all that was taking place. It was an enigma to him why he felt this strange, foreign anxiety that churned throughout his stomach. So when the wind rustled around him in the night air, as everything grew to adorn a blanketed mood of perpetual dark, he ignored the bite, for when it grated against his skin the soft sounds of footsteps were heard, and Harry knew that Snape had returned. The feeling fell gently away and he allowed this repose within the blanket of freezing bite that hammered against him in the deep dark.

"Potter." It must have been several hours, but Harry had gone no further than a few steps away from the bench, for he now rested behind the thick gray stone in a fetal position, having fallen slowly into a slumber. His arms and legs were still terribly weak. He heard him snap something up by an incantation, realizing in a second that the dark brown stick of a wand was in front of him. Ten million flames from a fire lit up Snape's pallid face, until they converged into one flame from the lumos incantation. Snape said another spell which Harry did not recognize, but which caused him to wonder at the ways in which all of the strange spells were created, since it sounded a bit like a riddle rolling off of his tongue. So he let out a long breath that Snape did not hear, he didn't suppose, at the warmth flooding through him from the spell that awed him, striking him as particularly impressive. A blue light enveloped both of them before they were warmed simultaneously, and when the warmth hit, he simply knew that no one had ever performed that particular spell on him. Snape began singing, or that was what it sounded like, but Harry knew the rhythmical lyrics were in fact a dark spell, that he had invented himself for all Harry could understand. It was deeply enigmatic, but nothing occurred, so the ending of this particular incantation left Harry feeling rather apprehensive. As Snape beckoned him forward, Harry stood up, his knees wobbly.

He was burning to know what had taken place during the time that Snape had not been there, but Harry did not dare to ask him now, for he hissed,

"Think of the place which you memorized earlier Potter." Harry had to think for a minute, before he realized that Snape must be referring to the muggle street which he had said was their apparition point. He thought hard, closing his eyes, bringing back that dilapidated older section. Snape took a hold of Harry's arm, and said, loudly and clearly,

"General Park Lane!"

A minute later, they whirred through the air, arrived at the same exact point they had apparated earlier. Just when Harry thought that they might have finished with the spell, he grabbed him in a strong grip once more and turned towards him. Shadows crossed over his shimmering pale face beneath the tickling light of a dark street light with flies buzzing around beneath the glass. Most of them were dead. He looked back into Snape's face. Both he and the potions master were invisible to any casual observers, although casual would not have been the- muggles.

"A few hours ago, we were not seen, nor able to be seen in any way or fashion." Harry said nothing in return. "Six hours has past. It is two o'clock in the morning. Seraphina will arrive at the house of your muggle family in five more. This is the only area where we will be required to stay, since any others are open to the eyes of muggles." Snape spoke rapidly. His voice churned with the forbidding reverberation that graced his eyes of hollow black tunneling drills, boring into Harry in the exact fashion as did the voice. It sent involuntary chills up his spine.

"Okay," he said, in a way that did not exactly question any of this, but which probed around in a curious tone. "But if that snake- Seraphina- will be attacking me soon, then how will we be able to stop it?" he said in a whisper. Snape's voice grew more brusque, although he still kept it fairly low.

"We are not here to stop anything Potter," he sneered. "Rather, we have arrived at the moment which will encapsulate what happens over the next few days which has enabled the Death Eaters the intrusive facts that they now have about your circumstance, which has made the Dark Lord himself suspicious of my role as a spy for him, and which, in short, dictates the potion that I will need to brew relatively shortly in order to secure his success," he spat out. Dread quickly fell into Harry's stomach once more, like a falling anvil. "Since obviously my role for the headmaster does not require assisting the Dark Lord to success, you are the primary suspect in this case which we must manage," Harry looked at him questioningly. He did not comprehend Snape's words, did not understand them, or take in anything he had said . . . but one piece of the puzzle fit the mood, although he was not exactly sure what that could have been. He did not know why, but he closed his mouth, not venturing to say anything further on the subject, but to simply listen. He thought that the potions master was finished, but he had no sooner experienced the notion when he told him coldly,

"I was required to go through the motions of keeping up appearances six hours ago Potter. When you allowed your cousin to blurt out that ridiculous notion I was required to, in short, obliviate the person that was in hearing range."

"But then- does that mean that Voldemort will not send the snake to the Dursleys?"

"Potter, the snake was not sent because of the fact that you gave away your position. It was sent because you carelessly allowed yourself to make that idea form into action before one of the Dark Lord's servants." Harry opened his mouth to speak again.

"It was sent, in short," Snape continued loudly and impatiently, "because this person knew of the way to gain access to the blood wards. There is an ancient magic around that house," he said slowly, and Harry listened, his hands clutched together tightly, "that protects one from the dark evil against which it was originally threatened. If that is given away, by sacrificing the blood wards up to jeopardy by indicating your position to a wizard with ties to that original threat, than the blood wards recognize that. The magic turns in on you," Snape continued, "as though you are an enemy of it. In short, that magic betrayed your trust because of your carelessness," he finished with a slight smirk, although Harry did not react, because he was mulling over the information. Perhaps he could ask Dumbledore about it later . . .

"But if you confounded the person," he asked finally, "then doesn't that mean he won't know _how_ to gain access to it?"

"No," Snape said shortly. "I obliviated the wizard in question of other information, in order to ensure that he will not give the Dark Lord secrets betrayed by the magical incident surrounding the Dursleys which will be detrimental to the entire wizarding society." Harry's heart sunk.

"He had more information?" He asked hollowly. He didn't think, for some reason, that it was even possible for the Death Eater to gain even more than he had, because of the blood wards . . .

"That is correct, Potter. Follow me now and do exactly as I tell you." Harry did. However, it was not a glaring notion on the subject of what Snape actually was leading into that propelled him rather, than the quick strides of the potions master that took Harry away from actually understanding anything about what had occurred, since, it was still extremely vague. But he felt his body growing weary, so he hoped fervently that Snape would soon be of a mind to scout out a position that would offer some shelter. The air had indicated by its need to freeze him a darker omen that portended a storm earlier, and the sky was looking too murky in a lighter gracing semblance than it should; shadows racing along the atmosphere made it seem as though it were moving, but the color of the sky was too bright for the time-

"Er- do you think we might be able to stop somewhere?" Harry called while hurrying to catch up. The wind drowned out his words however. Snape had impeccable hearing.

"You are unable to resist talking, Potter, and while I know this trait has been passed from your father's generation to you directly, refrain."

"Yes, _sir_," he said mulishly. At the exact minute he did so, Snape stopped, and Harry skidded to an unceremonious halt at his side, shimmering still so that he felt as if waves had overcome him, although he tried not to back into his robes. He glanced around furtively, but the street looked relatively the same. In fact, far be it from him to try twisting the way the potions master's mind worked, or rather untwisting it. Who could?

"Potter." Harry saw a shoe being placed under his nose. "Oh." He silently understood. It was a portkey . . .

"Take it when I tell you, and not before." His wand flicked up several times, at his face, causing him to cringe, and then to jerk back at the circular motion twisting the figure he made, but after a few familiar flashes Harry relaxed, for he understood that Snape was merely assessing his health once more. And admittedly, walking was all at once a struggle to him.

"Do try your best not to become splinched." Harry opened his mouth to argue, but at Snape's arm sticking in front of him he relented, now nervously trying to determine how, in fact, he could do that if he indeed had not the proper mindset. Harry thought really hard about staying where he was, or where they were going, to steady himself in any potential case, but he knew that he was woozy. This was it, then. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes tightly shut, and Snape- said something unintelligible.

The result of this half ability to focus as he might call it, brought him down on his back as he landed loudly, with a 'thump,' on the ground. Thankfully grass lie beneath him rather than cement. Originally, he was unaware of anything except for that fact. Soon a searing pain splicing his entire system caused him to struggle into an upward position, but for some reason, he found himself unable to do so. He was met with the wand of the potions master pointed directly at his face, and the shadowed white face before him gave a clear warning, though of what Harry did not know exactly. Dark, dark, darker went his world, until a tingling sensation swallowed him whole. Harry slowly began to open his eyes blearily, unable to comprehend the obstruction to his mobility, or anything else. Eventually, the tangled web of thoughts came silently together, swooping down underneath his body and above it until the world came completely into focus. Yet again, the first thing which met his vision was Snape's circling wand. He sat up, this time fully, panting heavily while he watched warily. Snape's face was twisted tight, like a black rope, the black eyes fathomless. He was muttering some type of incantation furiously, seemingly immensely concentrated, but, Harry could not make out the lines of his face.

"Oh!" He gasped, and then whatever had occurred went down like a blanket, frustrating his needs to come out of the bind of physical torture by eliciting the breakage of several bones. At least, that was what he thought happened, because breaking sounds indicated that terrible agony was the strength of Snape cutting his body to pieces!

But then the feeling gradually dissipated. Harry breathed in and out for several minutes, until he finally realized that he was well enough to sit up, or so he thought. He tried, struggling for a minute, but to his astonishment, the feeling of being tortured was now vanquished. As soon as he managed this feat though, nausea coursed through him, and he rolled over to the side, managing to vomit all over the grass. Shaking, the sweating of every pore in his entire body seemingly weighing him into the grass by pressing him, weakly down, he lay back once more.

"S- sorry." He had not realized that Snape was down by his side, so his eyes widened marginally to see that hooked nose above him.

"Understandable, Potter. If you have the ability to stand however, it is imperative that you do so. We are nearly to the destination that I have taken us to, and levitating will not be the most pleasant circumstance." Harry weakly nodded, and attempted to get into a sitting position. Slowly, with every limb crying out in protest against his actions, he shakily got to his feet, but immediately he swayed. Snape caught a hold of his left arm with cutting precision, his fingers making marks Harry fancied, heading towards a small house that was in their field of vision that he now clearly determined in the gloom as a meager shape cut out from the night sky, so insignificant in its bent over form that he might have not even noticed the building from a distance, and for some odd, indecipherable reason, he felt an odd urge to laugh. It was the oddest little house he had ever seen. Window flaps hung open from bizarre angles, sparkling with various colors that the blackness smiled upon while the blue, broken shades, and the pink glittering paint dust sparkled as the wind blew them, so they glittered in the night like firecrackers. He was curious to know whether this house had some connection with Snape, or any of the professors at Hogwarts. _Still_, said a niggling voice in his mind, _it could be the hideout for one of the Death Eaters. Though still and all, in this house . . . _

He was bemused. When they reached the steps Harry's eyes roved in an analysis of the front, noticing that the wooden structure had been doused in red paint, so that it might be a barn with cattle in it, that may have shocked the cows due to the sparkly windows. The erection did not make any comprehensible sense that he could understand, but his time to analyze was nonexistent. Snape quickly warded the house with several complicated incantations, making his chin rise in curiosity heightened by all of the spells he had never heard before while he watched, and took in his surroundings, which were nothing but prancing shadows at the moment. Snape move rapidly around the room until he came to a crude stop. Harry did not want to look at the portrait presented to him, but when the lights were flicked on an enormous painting of Salazar Slytherin stared straight back at him from the opposite wall. Snape's mouth curved to a smirk. He glared tiredly.

"The painting has a mind of its own, Potter. But there are, and will be for the time we spend here, no bats." Harry knew that. The furniture in the room was interesting. Another odd variety of colors assembled about the space which Snape was looking at with obvious repulsion etched deeply into his face. Several different Christmas tree ornaments were scattered across two of the bright pink chairs, which Harry stared at for a minute. They looked like something that Umbridge might have in her own living room, decked in the exact type of silvery frills that she wore all of the time. He thought they were atrocious, but, couldn't help but wonder if there _was_, some connection with Umbridge . . . he shook his head quickly.

Jerkily, Snape sat down in one of the chairs for a moment, and Harry moved his head quickly. Severus Snape sitting in a frilly pink armchair with a sour face was an image that struck him as hilarious, so he muffled his chuckling by clamping an arm hard across his mouth. Just as he heard a cantankerous brew of thunder directly beyond his window, two vials of glass knocked themselves against his head several times in succession.

"Ow!"

"You need to take those now, Potter," Snape said boredly.

"Alright." He scowled. Downing the disgusting black and blue concoctions for his pain as rapidly as he could, making a face in the process, he finally concluded that he'd much rather have the pain. Well, no, not really. He snuck another glance at Snape.

"Are you going to floo Professor Dumbledore?" Snape said nothing to him, although he had a strange look on his face. His eyes narrowed, and his wand raised, he eventually said something under his breath. At his words, a silver, wispy doe form bounded out from the tip of his wand. Harry watched the display, mesmerized. The doe was graceful and slender, yet there was something else about it . . .

"Tell Professor Dumbledore that we are currently situated at Odgen's place," Snape said in a clear tone. The doe seemed to nod. It bounded across the room once, and then flew out the window, into the rainy night. Harry kept trying to place it. The pain was beginning to die down. In fact, he was feeling an ache of hunger at the moment which let him know that he'd neglected to eat anything for many hours.

"Um, sir? There wouldn't be anything to eat around here, would there?" Maybe he would just get lucky and Snape would be hungry as well, so there would be more hope of actually getting some food.

"I highly doubt that Odgen left anything for his guests," Snape sneered. "_Accio_ pumpkin juice!" Two vials flew out of one of the doors to Snape's right and into his hand moments later. "Ah. I see that he has left us something. Here, Potter," he said brusquely, bringing a vial to him. "This will need to suffice for our hero."

"Er- thanks," Harry said, taking the vial. Pumpkin juice was better than nothing, he supposed. "Whose Odgen, sir?" he queried.

"That is none of your concern Potter," Snape stated. Great, Harry thought darkly. Whoever this character is, he couldn't be someone that he would want to hear about anyway. At least, not right now . . .

After finishing the vial, and feeling slightly better with the nutrition, and drowsy from the potions, he yawned widely, still wondering who Odgen was. Listening to the storm outside, he let his eyes drift towards the ceiling. The funniest little cupids were floating around on the enchanted ceiling there. One was chasing after a lush pink heart, and making faces at him. He glanced down the mess, and saw that one had escaped the party, and was now sliding down the wall behind Snape, making small kisses and heart shaped figures behind his back. Again muffling his laugher, Harry silently closed his eyes, and wished Dumbledore to arrive soon . . .


	6. Chapter 6

**{A/N:**

**Good evening, readers. I am pleased to undertake a sailing ship of Harry Potter yet again, for the voyage is more adventurous, and rapid than I had thought it would be. I thank everyone following for their interest in my world of Harry Potter, Severus Snape, and a few other characters who are making their way into this. Again I hope you enjoy the occasion, and my world of twisting and spinning- I want to weave, and I want to read!**

**Have fun with it!**

**A special thanks once more to ****hazeldragon**** and ****AkiraKuranXIII****. I am so appreciate of your drop ins!**

**I do love adventure . . . }**

**[Disclaimer: All of JKR's beauty, with our own fancies invariably attached!]**

**Brooke~**

**P.S. –Mystery has been added to the genre category.**

**Chapter 6:**

Not long after he'd fell into a doze, something of a picture presented itself, until Harry slowly realized that the light twisting of his right shoulder was interfering with the miraculous display of golden cupids above him, ridiculous though they were. Undoubtedly those features which had made themselves readily available from Mr. Odgen, whoever he was, purely and simply wanted his attention, because one was twisting his shoulder . . . or was it? Harry's eyebrows furrowed when he looked down to the right where nothing in front of him greeted him. After he had looked on, bewildered, having originally been of the opinion that one of the cupids had come down and wanted to play tricks with him- crazy Odgen would not have extremely surprised him had this house been so inclined with its weird spells and objects- he looked hesitantly around so that he might be able to determine the source, wondering if perhaps another bat had somehow worked its way into the room. He did not wait long. A shimmering image graced the length of his body, making him jerk back, startled, before it simply bobbed up and down in one position above his torso.

"What- "

"Shhh . . . Harry. I am the ghost of dreams that has come tonight. Why would you look at me like I am a frightening bat or something? Put your eyes back in, Harry. You will frighten someone."

"Er- sorry. I can't see you very well," Harry said.

From the corner, the potions master was observing in a calculating way that shrewdly hardened into a gaze that became, all at once, like a nail. Harry glanced at Snape, still sitting in that absurd phenomenon that belonged to the owner of the house he supposed, and swallowed. His eyes roved back to the creature before him, if indeed it could be called a creature, while he asked, suspiciously,

"Can you see the ghost?" He directed this towards Snape. Wondering whether he would answer, Harry looked back at him. Snape's eyes were eerily inscrutable. He smirked.

"If you are referring to the head of a ghost that is bobbing up and down over your chest Potter, then unfortunately you are not hallucinating." Harry gazed uncertainly at the display, which was indeed now turning quickly into the form of a solid head- well not exactly solid. The benign head of a pudgy-faced man, probably in his sixties, smiled at him. Harry was becoming rather annoyed. He sighed rather loudly. "Did you need anything, or have you just come to have a chat? No offense or anything," he said quickly, as the ghost took on a sour frown and his eyebrows began to furrow, "I'm just feeling rather week at the moment and I don't really feel much like talking." The look on the ghost head lightened at this.

"Oh, no trouble at all dear boy, no trouble at all! I have my bad days too, Merlin knows. Especially what with the woman in pink, one of Odgen's great, great grandmothers I am told, stole my head about two centuries ago- "

"Right, yeah, I understand that it must have been really disheartening," Harry cut in quickly, sounding dubious. "But- "

"Oh, I know." The ghost nodded conciliatorily. "You do not have time for a chat at this minute, but because I am sure you would love to hear all about the excellent tale, for an excellent tale it is, I will be sure to catch you when you are in the mind for it," said the head gaily. "Good day to you." And with that, it floated to Harry's left through the wall beside him. He shook his head. Then he sighed and fell back into the flattened pillow behind his head. He chanced another look at Snape. He looked sourer than Harry had ever seen him look before. Nothing seemed ordinary in the house at all. He wished he could write Ron and Hermione, but he would not dare to try and contact them. He sat up with a bolt all of a sudden.

"I just remembered!" Snape's eyes narrowed at him from across the room, but Harry did not care. "Where's Hedwig?" he asked. "Did she come with us, or did you leave her at Spinner's End?" His tongue darted back and forth across his mouth, while a leaden feeling and slight anger filled him. He understood, of course, how necessity involved quick action on their part, and it would have been foolish to assume that Snape would have brought his owl, especially since one never seemed to know now what might occur. Oh, he was not happy about the fact that Hedwig was in Snape's hands, not by far, but . . . he did understand that not everything could be controlled, as well.

"Your owl, I believe you will find upstairs in her cage." Harry realized that he had been holding his breath. "The creature which you call Hedwig," he sneered, "has found the room to be rather unsatisfactory to her needs, so ah- the colorful twisting bramble in the cage has been snapped in two." Harry glared at Snape, but he nonetheless felt relieved by the fact that Hedwig had made it into the house with them, although he had no idea whatsoever when that could have been done. It was crude, to think that an owl would cause him to feel so uncertain, but Harry was of the mind at the moment which felt really precarious. He laid back into the sofa once more and tried to close his eyes. They could not have been at this Odgen's house for long, even though it still felt like centuries. He became aware of a ticking clock somewhere throughout the house. Snape was doing nothing, save for sitting in his chair and looking extremely repulsed, as well as bored simultaneously. If he could write to his two friends, he could at least determine if there was anything slightly out of ordinary between either of them based on their replies. From this, he would know whether they were safe. He looked at Snape's shadowed form dubiously, frowning. He could just ask . . . no, that probably wouldn't be a very good idea. If he could just sneak upstairs- well, he thought, feeling, for the first time terribly bitter, that wouldn't work either. If it did, the strain to his physical body was hardly worth the effort. His wand! He hadn't even thought to check for it when he was at Snape's house. Perhaps it was still on him. He hoped fervently it was.

"What are you doing, Potter?"

"My wand," he panted, his hands roving over his clothing. He continued searching furiously until finally he reached into one of the back pockets of his robes and found the long, familiar, much-loved object. He exhaled loudly.

"Potter, do refrain from being a nuisance," Snape said negligently, without looking at him. He didn't answer. His hands curled around the smooth stick in a pincer-like grip however, while his breathing slowed. Perhaps it was possible for him to summon some parchment. Finally, he decided that all of this was for naught.

"Sir," he said, forcing his voice into politeness, "do you think it would be possible for me to send a letter?" Snape stared at Harry. "Why," he said slowly, "would you ask such a thing?" Harry gritted his teeth. "Well, because- you didn't exactly tell me what had happened to my friends, and I thought that if I could write them- "

"Potter, I believe that I have given you all of the information that is necessary for you to have at the current moment," he said dismissively. Harry gritted his teeth harder. He could feel droplets of sweat running down his forehead that had been formed by the mere fact that Snape was in the room with him, probably. "But if I knew what- I just want to know whether or not they are safe!" he ground out with a gnawing frustration on his person that had nothing to do with his present interaction. He did not exactly understand it, were he to be honest. "Professor Dumbledore said that many lives will be in danger, and I wanted to know whether everyone was in safekeeping," he bit out at last.

"Professor Dumbledore has, I believe, told you what you need to know," Snape drawled. "It is not my job to provide for you relevant information that only the order is privy to know." Harry knew that arguing with Snape was fruitless. He had the distinct impression that he was enjoying the fact that he had the power to withhold it from him. He glared down at the floor mutinously. A split second into the quiet that had stretched for an interminable length of time it would seem, the floor lighted up with a skyrocketing blue flame. Streaks of gold mixed with the display soon, and it behooved him to think vaguely that Dumbledore had arrived, but, there was no such luck to be had. Harry had the impression that time was stopping, as he stared avidly, his wand already out, grasped tightly in his hand and now was pointing at the moving flames. Blue intertwined with gold, and red, and green now, forming into a mist while the tangible flames vanished. It was a wondrous and beautiful conglomeration- a rainbow arching over the room without the cold of wet after raining.

"Get back, Potter!" he heard Snape snarl. Harry's mouth opened wide as two lightning bolts shocked him, zapping through his system which all at once had been lit with an imaginary fire. He did not know where they had come from, for they seemed to have twisted right out of the rainbow, yet he recognized their forms because the room was now alighted with bolts that could have been seen in the atmosphere outside in a simple storm. He gaped at the scene before him even while his body absorbed the silent flame. Blissfully, the pain disappeared after a minute, allowing him to rapidly throw himself behind the couch, his wand drawn over the edge while he observed the transformation. It was growing black, as the rainbow melted away, so Harry knew that whatever the rainbow image represented had not been a spell that he would have been happy to see coming at him. Only Lord Voldemort would have concocted something so twisted, he was sure of it.

A black shadow arose out of the mist. Harry did not think it was a person though. It was a darkly congealed spinning mass that spun several times in its own likeness, not exactly like anything he had ever seen, for the idea of an object spinning through the air normally put him in mind of a snitch, but this was long and elongated, not really spinning either, but twisting, and turning, until several blobs were forming into many different people. As the mist started to vanish however, Harry could clearly make out the familiar faces of those who he had wanted to see so badly- one of which was now barreling towards him.

"Oh Harry!" A mass of curly brown hair had thrown itself at him, and Harry, too shocked to say anything for a moment, merely held Hermione in a half hug. He did not even realize that he had stood up and moved around the couch as the mist from the spell dissipated. "What- how did you all get here?" She leaned back from him, panting slightly. Her large brown eyes followed his own around the room. Tonks, Lupin, all of the Weaselys it would seem were now in the room with them. Harry looked at them all in amazement.

"Well we didn't plan on it. Professor Dumbledore told us at the last minute that the Order needed to relocate, so we all came here, because we were told that's where you were staying," she said rapidly, but Harry held up a hand to stop her. "Whoa, hold on." Ron had come up to them during the swift interaction, grinning bizarrely, and a bit foolishly. Harry had never been so glad to see anyone though, no matter what either of them looked like. Come to think of it . . . as he studied the other Weaselys, Tonks, and Remus, as well as his two friends . . . he frowned, confused. "Er- why are you all wearing your pajamas? And what was that spell?" He no longer felt the effects, but it had nonetheless been a poignant feeling. He had also just realized that everyone in the room was, in fact dressed for bed. Hermione smiled. "It's four o'clock in the morning Harry," she pointed out. He scratched his head, only then realizing that he still wore jeans and a t-shirt. He had not changed in three days actually, and he suddenly became conscious of his state of dress. "Right," he mumbled. Hermione's eyes were rather narrowed, and she had a glint in them that spoke of understanding. Harry averted his own eyes.

"Listen, Harry. We don't blame you if you don't want to talk about it," Ron started. "I mean, I know that Dumbledore probably doesn't want you to speak of it," he quickly added, although Harry did not glance up. "But, well, you know, if you do want to talk about whatever happened, we'll be happy to hear you out . . . " he said rather awkwardly. Hermione nodded her head vigorously, sending a quick look Ron's way. "We know you're staying with that greasy git- "

"Ron!"

"Snape," Ron formed the word just a little too hastily, and Hermione shot him another glare. Harry muffled his laughter at the exchange. Ron looked as though he had swallowed a bag of lemons. "And it's not exactly like he's going to tell you anything, is it? I'm just saying," he added. "So, we're better off than Snape. I don't even know why Dumbledore- "

"Okay, Ron, I get the point," Harry said loudly, because he had in fact just seen Snape cross the room, lingering a bit too near for his liking. Ron touched him with those tactless attempts at trying to get him to open up and talk, but he didn't want his best friend to get into trouble over poking fun at Snape, since that could obviously to be dangerous on his end, especially while he was standing inches away from them. He could have sworn that, in the melee of people now scrambling about, Snape's eyes had flickered over to them once or twice. And due to the wide thronging of people he could no longer keep his friends out of the way of what he could not see. Snape always seemed more dangerous in a crowd for some strange reason. He saw Hermione look over at the potions master dubiously.

"Harry!"

"Nice to see you, mate!"

"Been a long time since you knocked that snitch right out of Penny Clearwater's- "

"That wasn't her name!"

"Yes it was!"

"Raving lunatic, George is- "

"It's great to see you too, Fred, George," Harry said quickly, offering his hand to both of them. Fred and George took it, with huge grins on their faces. He had never been so relieved in his life to see all of them. Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasely, had also joined them, while Tonks and Lupin hung slightly to the side, observing the group. Harry met Lupin's eye, receiving a small smile, with a wink in return. Harry grinned back at him, but in the pit of his stomach, a heavy lead feeling had formed without his consent, so he turned his head away, trying to ignore it. Snape stood leaning against a barrister in a removed area from the Order, several feet away, watching the exchanges with a sneer across his face.

"Ahem." The voice of Mr. Weasely struggled to make itself heard above all of his children, causing Harry to look up. "Much as we are all very pleased to see Harry safe and well, I do believe that Albus sent us all here for a reason, so there will be business to discuss very shortly." Mrs. Weasely had glanced at Harry with a twinkle in her eye that warmed him, now trying to focus on her husband's words, but he noticed that she kept trying to sidle over to him through the mess. He had the distinct impression that although she was listening to Arthur, she really wanted to come over and talk to him. The thought made him feel toasty inside. He offered her an obvious smile that he hoped she could see. "Will everyone please take a seat in a respective area of this- house- " Mr. Weasely now eyed the room with blatant curiosity, and Harry had to smother a grin- "and we shall begin shortly. Everyone who is not of age, of course, will not be privy- "

There were immediate protests at this, as Ron and Ginny loudly began to struggle at the same time for a word, battling against themselves, as well as a snort, followed by a few muffled words from the Weasely twins. Arthur stopped for a moment. Mrs. Weasely cut in before he could give his own answer.

"Absolutely not! Not another word. Harry here has just been brutally attacked, and it could be anyone of you next!" she fairly screeched, as Harry felt his ears burn. "I don't want to hear anymore talk about it! Ron, you and Hermione take Harry upstairs, and Ginny, you go with them." Ginny opened her mouth to argue. "Not another- word!" cried Mrs. Weasely, fiercely. Harry stared at her. She acted as though perhaps more was on her mind than the simple Order meeting, but he did not want to be at her end when she was in a temper like this, so he mutinously followed the others out of the room. As they were on their way out he caught a few snatches of the conversation as words such as 'the giant snake at the Dursleys,' or rather phrases of a most volatile nature jumped at him.

"Merlin," said Ron as they walked upstairs. Harry could not go any further. His body was somehow weakening, panting coming from his lips despite his efforts at the sudden weak feeling. He felt so heavy. While Ron and Hermione were admiring the house, he waved them off, falling at last onto the steps cutting through past the second landing. Hermione turned back, her eyebrows furrowed in consternation, as well as censor. "Harry," she scolded sharply. "You didn't say that you were still feeling the effects of the venom." Harry opened his mouth, but his jaw simply hung there.

"I didn't know that I had been," he replied honestly. She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Ron, help me get him upstairs."

"Hey!" he cried, his face turning red with embarrassment. "It's fine, I'm sure I can just stay- "

"You heard Mrs. Weasley, Harry," she returned. "Besides, I'm sure that Professor Dumbledore doesn't want anyone to know that the Order is being held here. Everything they are talking about is top secret. Underage wizards aren't supposed to know what the meeting's about."

"Oh, come on Hermione," Ron blustered, while he helped Harry to his feet. "You aren't going to tell me that you aren't at least curious to know what's going on down there. Hey mate," he said, turning to Harry. "I bet we could get Fred and George to lend us some of those extendible ears again. Next time there's a meeting, I'll ask them, eh?" Harry nodded. Hermione just huffed.

"You two." Ron rolled his eyes. "Come on." Harry painfully walked the rest of the way up the stairs with them, admiring the insincerity of someone like Odgen, who had apparently had the gall to deface the walls with pictures of demonic representation of figs and newt cookies, along with several other fruit varieties that Harry didn't know the name of.

"This Ogden's a strange bloke, isn't he?" Harry turned towards him quickly. "You know who he is?" he asked.

"Well, no, but Dumbledore did tell us you and Snape were staying here." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"All he said was that you were staying at Ogden's place," she said.

"Yeah . . . " Harry was burning with curiosity. Perhaps Dumbledore had given them more information.

As soon as they were inside one of the closed rooms, having secured their privacy by making sure the door was shut, and his casting of a hasty 'Muffliato,' charm, Harry met the gaze of his friends baldly. Hermione read his mind though. "No, Harry," she sighed. "We don't know anything.

"We were hoping you would tell us what happened, mate," Ron added, plopping down on the bed in the far sectioned corner, to the left, still looking at all the garish pictures which the man of the house had placed in strange positions on the walls, so that they hung haphazardly, apparently deliberately uneven and made to stand out in the worst ways possible to observers. "Oi, do you reckon this Ogden fellow's playing some kind of joke on us? I wonder why all of these are of fruit?" He chuckled lowly.

"Dunno," said Harry. The representations were oddly fascinating. One miscreant of a potato was threatening to climb over a pear in one of them, as they seemed to struggle over a game of chest.

"Weird." Harry wholeheartedly agreed.

"So," he said, striding across the room towards one of the closed windows. "Did he say why headquarters had moved, then? I'm sure you didn't just decide to show up here," he said, frowning. Hermione sighed.

"Of course we didn't, Harry. Professor Dumbledore came in the middle of the night to Grimmauld Place, telling us that we needed to be reunited with you and Snape- "

"Creepy that bit was," Ron muttered under his breath. Hermione shot him a cursory glance.

"Not you though," he added quickly, looking up at Harry. He ignored that inclusion. "So," he said, frustration threatening to edge its way into his tone, "that was the only reason?"

"Well, no," Hermione said softly, "not exactly." Her eyes sidled to the side, making Harry immediately suspicious.

"What?" Harry asked rapidly, "what is it?" Hermione averted her gaze. Ron met her eyes from across the room. There was a silent minute in which Harry waited impatiently.

"Mate, we know some of what happened to you when Snape came and picked you up," Ron said finally. "We know that you were attacked by a snake sent by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Professor Dumbledore had said that once the blood wards were broken into, well, anything could happen really, and he needed a place for the Dursleys to stay, in order to keep them safe. He said the best option at the moment had to be Grimmauld Place. Odd that he didn't have any other place to keep them, come to think of it," Ron added. Hermione nodded vigorously, putting in, "that's exactly what he said. That there was no other option." She looked dubious as well, but Harry had not put two and two together quite yet.

"Okaaay," he said slowly, "okaaay, so there was no other place for the Dursleys. So what?" He didn't understand the significance of that minor detail. It didn't matter to him where the Dursleys stayed. In fact, come to think of it, though . . . "hold on," he said. "Hold on just a minute. There's no other place for the Dursleys than Grimmauld Place?" He found that hard to believe. Especially since Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were probably having an apoplexy by now from the magical environment they were in. His aunt wouldn't be able to clean for infinity, hoping to get rid of all of the cobwebs and dust mites in Sirius's house. "How will he rid the house of the trace of magic?" he blurted. Now getting visions of the three Dursleys running wild although cantankerous and slow, around the house, finding, in their drawers, objects of magic when they tried to eat- they would be too frightened to do more than sit on a couch together, if they could find one safe enough that did not own to any out of ordinary disasters for them. What was going on? "Why would Dumbledore do that?" he asked.

"That's just it," said Hermione, shaking her head. "We don't know why he asked us to leave so the Dursleys could move in. I suspect that he's charmed the place so that its comfortable for them, but- " Ron snorted. Hermione shot him a glance, "but we don't know why. And he said something about people being endangered were his plan not to be executed." She looked a little chilled by this admission. Everyone fell silent. Harry kicked the leg of a nightstand to his right. Breathing heavily, he turned again towards the window. A million thoughts spun around that he could not make sense of. Dumbledore's last words wafted out to him, '_more lives will be in danger than one if you do not listen to I and Professor Snape about everything we inform you of . . ._ '

"Snape," Harry said aloud. Ron and Hermione looked up.

"What about Snape?" Ron asked. He sat down on the bed beside Ron, who moved over a few paces.

"Listen," he said seriously. He swallowed. "After the snake bite, Snape took me to Spinner's End. That's his house- "

"Blimey, mate!" Ron gasped. "You were inside the greasy git's house?" he asked, awed, ignoring Hermione's clucking of disapproval. Harry waved him aside. "Yeah, I was," he said impatiently." His voice grew pensive as he thought it over. "Actually, it could have been much worse. When I woke up . . . " and he proceeded to explain the awakening he'd had on realizing his physical state, the immense amount of pain he had been in after being bit by the snake- Seraphina- the enchantments that had been a part of the room he'd been stabilized in, as well as the fact that Snape had been the one to bring him back to a proper physical state. He also explained everything he knew about the enchantments, and why they were forced to come here. However, he did omit what he could cut concerning his hallucinations, as he'd had experiences to last him a lifetime of being thought of as a madman, and it wasn't necessary for him to egg on that notion.

When he was finished, his two friends simply sat there for a moment. Finally Hermione broke the ice. "I think that Professor Dumbledore meant that since the safest place for you is with Professor Snape at this time, that you have the potential to make everyone else safer, as well as yourself." Harry and Ron stared at her.

"I know it sounds extensive," she said, catching their stares as she shook her head. "But see, well," and she glanced up at Harry now. "I don't know if you ever noticed it before Harry, but when Professor Dumbledore mentioned your need to, um- help people- he did say that you were best left with Professor Snape. Do you think that he would have told you such because he simply wanted you to be careful?" Neither Ron nor Harry answered her. "See, I think he wanted to make it so that you would _need _to be careful," she continued. "Professor Snape understands you, Harry," she said, in a tone of liquid honey. When Harry opened his mouth wide to protest, she held up a hand. "You know I'm right. And there are similarities between you that might indicate a working relationship."

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron cut in quickly. "You aren't saying that Snape and Harry have some kind of mutual connection?" He broke into loud guffaws at this. Hermione looked annoyed. "The idea of Snape and Harry getting along peaceably is absolutely ridiculous."

"No, it's not," she said heatedly. "Harry," she said, turning towards him now, "don't you think it rather odd that the headmaster placed him in the Dursleys house, of all people? He is the only Order member with a connection to the Dark Lord himself, and he therefore understands the danger you are in more than anyone else." Harry fell quiet as he contemplated that statement. She did have a point. Hermione watched him. "I'm only saying, Harry," she said in a softer tone, placing a hand over his shoulder, "that I'm sure he placed you two together for a reason, and that I hope you don't disregard his reasoning." Her voice wavered slightly, and to Harry's horror, he caught a glint of water behind her eyelids.

"I know," he said, in the same tone. "It's alright." The worry he had felt for the two of them earlier threatened to overwhelm him in that moment, as guilt bore down upon him, making him feel as though he were under siege. Had either of them been victims of his recklessness, more deaths would have been on his head, and he would have needed to add them to the crime he had already committed. He sighed wearily to himself. He had not had much of a chance to think about Sirius lately, but the perpetual guilt never seemed to leave him completely. It gnawed at him so fiercely that his stomach nearly clenched painfully in a physical sense. It could have been any of them that had suffered the consequences, and it would have been all his, Harry's fault . . . he turned away from Hermione, again staring at the pink-painted shades of the window, without really seeing them. Just then the door opened.

Ginny's voice sought them out mutinously. "Fred and George just came to tell me that the meeting's over," she said. Harry turned.

"Okay. Thank you Ginny," Hermione told her. Ginny nodded. She looked over at Harry curiously beneath her bright, overzealous top of red hair flying about her face. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. "Hey Harry," she said softly, "are you doing alright?" He nodded. "Just fine Ginny. Yourself?" Her smile got a bit brighter. "Never been better. Well, I'll see you all downstairs." He nodded again. Then he watched as her red hair flew out of the crack in the door she had opened, down the adjoining hall.

Ron let out a great, gusty sigh. "Well, let's go. Maybe if we're lucky, good ol' Fred and George will fill us in on some of it." Hermione walked up behind Harry. He gave her a quizzical look. She pulled a face that said 'boys are extremely daft.'

"Just put your arm behind my shoulders, Harry." He blushed. "Oh, right." Now he nearly wished that Snape was back. He shook his head to himself. Odd thought though it was, he was used to Snape mocking him. Being around his friends like this made him feel particularly vulnerable for some reason.

When they gained their footing once more in the room where the Order meeting had been held, he realized that the members had already started to apparate. Harry heard several loud cracks, and he quickly ran towards Tonks and Remus. Mr. and Mrs. Weasely had already gone.

"Wait!" he cried. "Wait!" He ran right up to Lupin. "What are you- where is everyone going?" he gasped out. The look in Lupin's eyes was regretful. "I'm sorry, Harry, but this is not a social calling. There is no time to discuss or explain anything with you. The Order has important business to take care of immediately." Harry's heart immediately jumped up into his throat. "What do you mean?" he asked him hoarsely. "Why would- " he looked around the room. "Where's Professor Dumbledore?"

"Professor Dumbledore just left moments ago," Lupin said rapidly. Recognition dawned in Harry's eyes, right before Remus clamped a strong hand over Harry's own. "Listen to me." He met Lupin's eyes squarely. He had never seen the man look so serious. "You must do all that Professor Snape tells you to do. We are fighting for the side of the Light." Lupin nodded to him. "Do what he asks. You shall see us again soon, Harry, I promise." Harry swallowed.

"Goodbye." He grabbed Tonk's hand, and they apparated. Everyone else was gone, save for Bill Weasely, now. He walked over to them and said quickly, "you need to stay here, Ron." He nodded to the others. "We'll be back soon. It may be several hours, and it could be a few days." He looked urgently at Harry. Ginny walked over to him and threw her arms around Bill's middle. He hugged her back swiftly. Again, his eyes alighted on Harry, and he knew that Bill wanted to convey a message.

"Watch over them for me," he said. Harry nodded, before turning away from the scene. In a minute, he heard the crack of apparition, and Bill was gone, too. He swallowed again. When he regained a normal, steady breathing, he faced the room again. Ron and Ginny both had strangely green shades to their faces. Harry felt slightly sick. He sank onto the nearest plush armchair as his knees finally gave out on him. The door to the pantry opened, and all four of them looked up to meet the gaze of the potions master.

"Ah," Snape said brusquely. "Everyone from the Order has gone, I see." They all became more wary at his presence, but Harry felt the tension of the other three, not having a need to look at any of them to know that his presence had affected them. Snape's eyes graced the room lightly and then bore down into him. "Isn't- that- pleasant," he said softly. Then he quickly pointed his finger and jerked it back in the other direction. "You three- out," he snapped. His eyes bore into Harry again, who felt an inexplicable feeling of dread.

"I need to teach Potter Occlumency . . . "


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7 ~**_

_**A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading, and I pray you, please enjoy, and I hope that you will stay. I am on vacation at the moment, so my limited access to the internet may interfere with slightly, but not in the overall updating process or schedule. **_

_**A special thank-you to **__**Hazeldragon**__**, my lovely reviewer.**_

_**Cheers everyone.**_

_**{Disclaimer: All rights belong to JKR}**_

_**-The spell Indigo Inmesical shall be explained soon.**_

_**- Minor editing changes continue. This is a work in progress honed to my heart's desire.**_

_**-No Slash.**_

Without giving any thought to what they were doing Harry imagined, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all broke into loud protests, although he noticed that Hermione only said a few words before falling quiet. Yet still, the reaction of the three surprised him very slightly. True, he did not want to take any more lessons in Occlumency with Snape, and most especially not without any warning of the event ahead of time. Ron however did act out in a rather violent manner. Harry's eyes widened when he saw his balled hands at his sides. He tried to catch his friend's eye, but since he and Ginny were both yelling at Snape simultaneously he highly doubted that either one of them had noticed. He felt his heart sink. They were all going to get into more trouble than he could imagine. At this minute, he vaguely felt like putting a foot on top of Ron's own and pressing down hard. Snape looked absolutely livid. Hermione abruptly shut her mouth, glancing at Ron and Ginny nervously. After a full minute of silence, Snape said in a voice of deadly quiet,

"You three- upstairs." Harry had the distinct impression that a nasty swell of flesh inside his mouth caused the potions master to look down at all of them with such obvious disgust that, the three of them could have been one of his slimy experiments up on one of the shelves in his office. As though he had perhaps, bitten his tongue and his mouth now soured at the manifestation. He turned his lips in a sneer such as Harry never could have comprehended, his dark robes swishing towards the other direction, standing now as a rigid board right in front of him. He kept his eyes trained on the dark soles of Snape's boots, while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny finally slipped quietly away from their designated areas, although they appeared reluctant to leave him alone. Harry felt somewhat touched by their concern, especially since he had not informed his best friends of the events surrounding his last Occlumency sessions to any extent. He understood that they did not know the full gist of what he had been through these last few days, and considering the fact that the entire Weasely family was probably in the middle of dangerous Order business at the moment, he couldn't help but to feel moved.

"Potter. It is necessary that you begin training immediately," Snape enumerated. Harry didn't really like this angle in front of the potions master, and wished that he was a bit taller, in that moment. "The Dark Lord has obviously broken into your defenses over the last three days, and Professor Dumbledore has therefore ordered me to continue teaching you where we had left off in the previous year." His voice grew more curt and rapid. Harry scratched the back of his neck, trying to consider what Snape was telling him. His legs felt slightly wobbly. He wondered somewhere, in the back of his mind, whether or not he would actually be able to hold up if Snape were to break into his mind. It was not a pleasant thought. Other thoughts swirled around in his head that all entailed him falling in the most gruesome ways underneath Snape's wand, providing him with a shudder. He watched him carefully upon bringing his head out of this picture, which presented nothing that could be deemed pleasant. Snape's dark tunnels were trained on him. Harry felt like his every move was being scrutinized. He dared not move a muscle.

"What makes Professor Dumbledore think that Voldemort will try to break into my mind while we are here?" Harry asked him, while Snape bared his teeth at his use of the Dark Lord's name. "Wouldn't it be easier to just- I dunno- provide the house with extra layers of shield charms or something? Besides," he added quickly, hoping that he would get his sentence out before he was interrupted, "with all of this Odgen character's odd levels of desires, and er- tastes," he said, looking around at the room at large, his eye catching on one of the pink armchairs next to him, "don't you think it would be easier if we just used some of the enchantments already placed on this house, and tweaked, or maybe enhanced them a bit?" Harry said this in a rush, quickly voicing some of the ideas that had been on his mind ever since they had arrived at this location. He hoped against hope that Snape would consider what he had said. The man in question simply stared at him for a moment.

"While that is all very interesting Potter, protective enchantments alone are not enough to keep someone with a direct connection to the Dark Lord's mind from invading their thoughts and gaining access to their memories. The incident you had with the Dark Lord that occurred last year, as well as the hallucinations you experienced at Spinner's End are proof of his ability to work through any kind of magical enforcement in an external category." His words sounded ominous to Harry, who felt his heart sink into his gut. He had been aware, of course, that Hogwarts must have had magical protection, though he still thought that perhaps another option might have presented itself.

"We are here, Potter," Snape said softly, observing him carefully, "because you did not have any type of protection from the Dark Lord against mind attacks when we resided at Spinner's End. This was due to your weakened state of course, but in addition to your depleted physical energy from Seraphina's attack on your system, you were also in a state of your own magic, which begged that others . . . " Harry looked up at Snape with a start, while he paused. His face was an inscrutable mask, and he had no idea what was going through his mind, "who had been in the vicinity potentially, when your cousin gave precious information away, when the blood wards broke, also had some _connection_ to you." The look he was giving him was odd. The wheels in Harry's head were turning a mile a minute. He recalled Dolohov's visit to Snape earlier, as well as all he could remember that he had explained about the breakdown of the blood wards protecting him within the Dursley's residence. "Dumbledore presumes," he said, speaking in a low tone now, "that because the blood wards have, as he put it, turned against your safety, that it has become easier for the Dark Lord and his followers to gain access to your mind." Harry was quiet.

"But then, why did we move locations?" he said after a moment. "If he can get into my head than that means proximity well, shouldn't matter, right?" Snape was tracing the bottom half of his lip with his middle finger.

"No," he said, "that is not what it means. Proximity matters in magic, Potter. Time and space are important. While you still retain a connection with the Dark Lord's mind, you are less likely to gain any kind of access to it, or vice versa, when in another environment than that has many protective spells and magic which is similar to that which he utilizes. The protection to your own body has weakened, while the Dark Lord's connection with you has, apparently, strengthened." Harry went rock still, while his entire body went frozen, like a vine, climbing all the way up through his nervous system, which made him unable to do anything other than stand there. It shouldn't really have been a surprise, if he were completely honest with himself. But even in this state, a question bobbed to the surface of his mind, through its clutter.

"Why are we safer here?" he asked hollowly. "Why are the spells here less potent than those at your house?"

"They are less sensitive to the Dark Lord because they are not spells which he has ever used," Snape said promptly. "The Headmaster has chosen the dwelling of one of his oldest friends, who he assumed would not use dark magic, but just the opposite."

"So it's less likely that he'll be able to reach me from this location?" Harry muttered to himself, still trying to work it all out. Suddenly his eyes went wide. "But the Order!" he cried. "Why have headquarters been moved here if Dumbledore knows- "

"He also assumed that if you were surrounded by members of the Order of the Phoenix, that it would help to strengthen the protection of which he speaks." His breathing had taken on a shallow murmur that rose up and down, but even as his chest went in, and out, he could not absorb that last sentence. Shadows crawled out from different corners of the strange house in order to grip his soul, and try as he might, struggling knew only turmoil in Harry Potter. He had never become so intimately acquainted, with a feeling in his life, or at least not for a very, very long time. Reigning down upon him with a weight so great, the heavy lead inside him wanted to drag him into the Earth below, into the shadows, so that he would never again see light. How could he have allowed this? A pregnant pause took all of his energy, in that lax moment. Time had slowed down just for him. He stared down at his hands, trying to fight the strangling hold of guilt threatening to choke him. To his immense chagrin, he felt his eyes began to burn, but he blinked hard several times, desperately seeking to regain control-

Snape scrutinized him after he had finished speaking, and the study was one that no one could explain. Harry did not dare look anywhere but down in his lap, while he listened to the soft hooting noises of an owl somewhere in the far depths of the house, perhaps in a corner that he hadn't yet examined. He simply sat there. Snape, turned and swept away while the blackness of the night covered the windows, and raindrops could be heard softly pattering against the wooden boards of which the house trembled beneath. Harry wondered how indeed the wood had not melted beneath all the pressure that Odgen's place had been forced to weather. His eyelids started to droop, for his well being had been, somehow once again underneath his oblivious state of mind, since preoccupation with other items had caused him to subject the pain into nonexistence- but now he licked his lips, watching as Snape revolved around the room upon grabbing onto the back of the pink chair in front of him. That blasted chair.

"You are aware Potter, that this must be accomplished in the small amount of time which we have to peruse." Harry could not decipher any additional meanings to this statement, nor could he pull from Snape's manner anything beyond what words had flown through his ears, save for one notion. Snape's back portrayed a rippling black shield. Harry breathed deeply, trying to consider his options. He found none. "You mean that before the Order returns, I need to learn how to defend myself against his mental attacks?" He took a deep swallow.

"That is correct essentially Potter." His mouth turned to sand. The air in the room swelled with saturated water outside the house, rather than within the space between himself and his potions professor. In fact, water flooded his ears, making him wish that for a small time, he could walk out into that storm. Hit bit on his lip. For all of the pain he felt, his physical body did not mean anything, because he shook his head, ignoring the shake of his limbs, at something terribly incomprehensible. Snape whipped around. The silence in the room cut between the two of them, as well as every other strange eccentric cut out in the soft, dark, light, flaunting a blaring pigment or a silver instrument, each piece of the owner demonstrating the uniqueness of the house, and the reason for their presence here. Harry rubbed his knuckles on the left hand subconsciously with his right one, snapping his eyes up.

"Teach me then." The black eyes glittered strangely in that sallow face. He locked eyes with Snape, but what he saw, he couldn't fathom. His body rippled with determination, fear went throughout the motion of that stream working its way into his system as well, and he did not deny it. Pincer-like grips of a mean spider with cutting legs made of sharp, jagged scissors. To him, the only thing that mattered was this very moment. He did not know why. He did not know all of the details. He knew not what danger his friends and family were currently in, but it was imminent and all-consuming, so the snarl that he may or may not receive meant nothing, because Harry did not care. Whoever must teach him to occlude, would be the one to teach him Occlumency against Lord Voldemort and the tricks invading his mind. If it had to be Snape then, as much as Harry dreaded what was to come, he knew with certainty that only one choice remained.

"Close your mind Potter," Snape said softly, his tone starkly dangerous. "Let go of all emotion." Harry slowly nodded. Wiping a shaking hand across his forehead to remove a damp portion of his sleeve directly afterwards, he attempted to ignore the sweat streaming down his face, which he now felt languidly dripping down his body like the rain he heard outside of the windows. He concentrated on nothing, on the blackness before his eyes. Since the entire room had succumbed to an extremely dim light he did not find this to be that difficult. "On the count of three, then, Potter." A sharp pause drove through his now foggy brain as a tool that only Snape could use through a snakelike hiss plying into his head. "I trust that these lessons will not take the turn they took last time, Potter." Harry waited, the muscles in his neck tensing in a steady pulsation of a heart pounding almost deftly. "Enough. One, two, three- _Legilimens_!"

The onslaught of the attack brought him up short, since the memories swam around in the manner of an object charmed. He felt that he had been suspended in air for a second longer than he should have, only watching the events from his childhood fly into a space that he couldn't fathom, while he saw the spell but hung back, removed from his own life as it went by him, spinning out of Snape's incantation. That only lasted, until a cupboard closed around him for the first time. He heard his own voice being ripped out of his throat from a point that no longer seemed far away. He was a four year old, screaming to be released.

Although he didn't know how he pulled himself out of the cupboard, a wand clutched in his own hand waved furiously around the room, until he could see more than the shadowy darkness into which his uncle had thrown him into. He was aware of fear, and a trembling in his fingers as the wand vibrated slightly with his magic, but nothing else, nothing until he finally saw Odgen's entire living room once again. Realizing his surroundings were not of that memory, he gritted his teeth, focusing on the potions master, who now had developed into more than a silhouette. Vision cleared, he cried loudly,

"Protego!" The words took on their own beauty as the room ignited with a red blasting the pushed Harry out of his own head. He shook it from side to side in relief of the dark measure taken in his brain, since Snape had forced something terrible, that he did not understand completely as of yet, to be reborn within him. That he needed to push aside for now however. He looked up only to be jolted out of recollecting the worst time of his life at the Dursleys to see Snape scowling, although growling perhaps suited the description better. A nasty welt crossed his wrist, climbing up into the crook of his elbow, which he rubbed hard with the fingers of his left hand.

"You- didn't mean to produce a stinging hex, did you Potter?" he asked him tightly.

"Um . . . no." Snape let out a low hiss.

"That was adequate, Potter," he said finally. "But you did not repel me with your mind. Close it again, concentrating. That's it . . . " he enumerated silkily. "We are going to try again, Potter. One, two, three- _Legilimens_!"

Swirling, tumultuous, cloudy remnants from his past came up to find him once more. Harry closed his eyes tightly shut, without realizing the action had been taken. He was not aware of himself, or his body. He floated throughout his own life, glaring through a glass bauble that reminded him of Dobby for some reason, until he recognized the bobbing Christmas ornament as one of the sparkling gems that Hogwarts had proudly flaunted before students when the Christmas trees had been erected. He saw them for the first time in his first year at Hogwarts. All of Uncle Vernon's capitalizing efforts could never have created such a tree or bought the garland and the many layers of strings, lighting décor or instruments that should go necessarily unnamed, that he had never seen save in such a place where magic abounded so fresh and sparkly. He reached out with a hand to touch and, perhaps simply stare at the silver bauble in front of him, for what reason he did not know. Harry felt like the little bobbing orb- but wait. No, no, this was not to be his true first Christmas, and he would not relive it now. His friends were in danger. At the thought, fear flooded through his body. Acting reflexively, he cried,

"Indigo Imnesical!" He gasped out, regardless of that Snape had no ears that could hear the exclamation, due to the plunging he had taken into his memories. While Harry hung back in the shadows of a room with a dark violet color splashed crudely over the walls, he licked his lips as though he were a fly, wishing that he was a fly when a skinny, pale teen with long black hair hanging limply around his shoulders walked into the space, shutting the door. He had never visited this room in Snape's memories the first and the only time he had broken into his defenses.

"How dare you." A menacing growl wafted into the room behind the teenage Snape, who sat on the bed near the far end of the corner diagonal from Harry's quiet observation. He wouldn't be seen or heard. The shelf next to his left elbow housed two small sailboats made from paper-mache, held together with wooden sticks. When he leaned back he saw them with a jolt of surprise, that made him start after his initial shock, because he didn't realize that every item in the room had no tangible connection to him. He couldn't feel any of it.

"I never said anything about it," the teenager said in a silky voice, much similar in tone to the real Severus Snape in Odgen's house. Involuntarily, Harry shrunk into the crevice of the wall behind him into the corner that he didn't actually touch. A large man with four to seven chins barreled into the room behind Snape, his black eyes cold, snapping onto the boy, to the window, and then back once more to the boy. He stumbled several times. Harry thought that, strange to note, this man somehow looked exactly like him. Of course. The man was Snape's father, without a question.

"What do you mean you never told?" His speech slurred between the two of them, and was perhaps the reason for which Snape wrinkled his nose, since more emitted from the lack of speech form than the inability to say words correctly. A stench had now crept up into the arena, to permeate around them.

" You didn't mean working for that company wasn't enough to provide income enough." Snape spoke in a low, eerie tone. "Mother came home the other week requesting that you provide her with the disability check. You didn't give it to her . . . " He quirked an eyebrow into the face of the hooked-nosed man, now inches away from his person. Unconsciously Harry sucked in his breath as he watched the scene unfold. But in the space of that occurrence, the scene began to dissolve.

"Are you implying that the company gave the money to me, and I spent it?" An ugly, purplish flush suffused the pale man's face, his breaths labored yet somehow stretched out over the course of listening to what Snape had said, while even still, the beady black eyes drilled into his son's stoic, implacable features. Snape's inscrutable expression molded away into darkness . . .

A girl now ran, tripping over the hem of her black robes that reached just past her trainers, into the trees beyond the patch of meadow she had just streaked across, bumbling and weaving into the thick of the now cooling environment of a forest. She glanced around quietly, before picking up the hem of her robe into the clutch of a small fist, walking down to a small stream that Harry spotted betwixt the brambles and wide trunks in front of him. Shaking his head to orient himself in the new memory, he attempted to follow the red-haired girl, looking around for Snape, since he knew that he must be somewhere within the vicinity. He soon saw a dark figure cutting through the other side of the river, and he immediately locked his eyes upon the greasy haired boy. Snape couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve in this one, he thought to himself.

"Severus!" He knew that voice. As soon as the words formed from Snape's mouth in order to affirm his notion, he knew it was his mother. When Snape found a pathway of makeshift rocks of various sizes, he quickly crossed to the side Lily had traveled. She sat down on the grass while waiting. Harry scrutinized his mother carefully, relishing the sight of her wide green eyes. The flowing red hair adorning her head cascaded down her shoulders, making its own elegant flow of length down her chest, providing a surprisingly dignified appearance to one so young. The boy-Snape lowered himself to the same spot, pulling the hem of his own wizard robes up past worn out trainers that were now sodden from his dip in the water, albeit that they had a moth-eaten, gray look to them suggesting previous abuse.

"I wanted to give you this," said Lily in a soft voice, and Harry noticed that her eyes demonstrated expectation of some kind. The boy averted his eyes. While Snape's black hair fell over his long face in strands that were greasy and unkempt, he mulled over what she was saying. The pallid face, more serene than Harry could have imagined, didn't truly seem to belong to the same person.

"Alright. Alright, Lily. I'll take it." And, before Harry could see what his mother pulled out of his pocket, the memory had evaporated.

Back in his own mind, he shot a look across the room. Severus Snape, the potions master, panted heavily in a bend that halfway to the floor lent him a frightening scope. Dread had taken over Harry's brain, as well as curiosity. An image swam before him of a boy with lanky hair, an inexplicable, but soft gaze. He could not correlate the two people, and it felt like a fly was swimming around up there somewhere, so that soon he would not to wake himself from these strange- imaginings.

Snape made a move to stand, but although his shoulders shook very slightly he did not give any type of acknowledgement, except for the straightening of the heavy robes he wore. The sweat on his brow indicated that Harry would in a moment be deeply distressed by the experiences he had undergone were he comparing prior events to those present. He understood that in a minute's time he would pay for what had just taken place. No, though. Time to think about his friends, and the Order. Surely Snape would allow him to concentrate on the task, or so he hoped that such would be the case. His own body was shaking.

"That was certainly better than usual Potter," Snape said in an abrupt tone which made him wary, after having finished with his bodily reorganization. "Let us try again, shall we?" His black eyes pooled into the depths of Harry's own, but Harry forced himself to meet his gaze, swallowing hard. The memories unnerved him, most especially the depiction of his mother. What had she been doing wallowing around in Snape's thoughts? He wondered. She couldn't have belonged there?

"Once again, then. On the count of three. One, two, three- _Legilimens_!" This round happened much too soon, for Harry was not ready when Snape raised his wand. He had a visual of a girl with red hair and bright, green eyes, which immediately sculpted into another tall woman with bright green eyes, singing softly. He could see her face, although the picture was vaguer than usual, but he could tell that it was his mother. Recognition dawned sooner than he would have liked, since no longer lived that memory in his mind Lily Evans dominated in sweet serenity. It turned darker. _'Stand aside, girl, now, stand aside.'_ Fear now coursed through Harry's veins in a cold, chilled ice-box that he'd roughly fallen into. He swallowed compulsively several times in succession while leaning against a wall that never touched him, again, not understanding the dream-like semblance running through his view. Previously he had heard only the voices of his parents during the dementor attacks when they had plied open this memory, but now he saw the description. No, he couldn't watch. Bile rose within his throat at the sight of the languid woman with the stormy red hair, rocking him. The child Harry had opened his eyes wide at the new voice he could hear.

'_Stand aside. I'm going to give you one last chance, now._' His mother screamed, simultaneously imploring in her tone, to Lord Voldemort. _'Please.'_ Her voice was cracking. _'Please no. I'll do anything. Take me instead. Not Harry, please, please not Harry.' _The cold, cruel voice of Lord Voldemort fitted his snake-like eyes, and now Harry clearly saw the familiar white face, and the last thing that his mother had ever faced directly before her death. He turned away, feeling as though he were choking off, somehow, while his air-valves protested against movement. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move-

He opened his eyes to a white, starry ceiling above him, covered in blue and pink dots spinning about in an odd figure, while flowers danced and teased those revolving enchantments. He could not breathe, so strange it was that he'd just relived that, since the fluid time never had stopped, carrying with it that inability to draw air. Would he suffocate? Now he breathed easier, but still needed some more air to draw into his shaking limbs, or perhaps just some comprehension. He gave a great sigh. Finally he knew where they were. They were situated at Odgen's place, signified by the great, looming sign painted in bright, shiny pink that miraculously made an entrance of enigma over the stairwell . . . he had certainly never noticed it before-

"Snape!" He hadn't spoken that aloud in his perception, but a moment later he knew that such a dream would have been only too good to be true. Snape looked furious, and Harry bit his tongue. "I'm- "

His face was as white as Lord Voldemort's. His eyes were livid, and dark. Yet a missing element caused Harry to wonder at what quality exactly he hadn't caught. And then it hit him, far too soon. An idea revolved around in his head, but he did not want to go near it. The implications were more than he could presently handle. Harry looked down at the floor, not remembering what had put him in a spread-eagle work or unceremonious art sprawled across the carpet. He wiped a brow across his forehead. He did not make an attempt to move.

"Potter, how did that last memory come to be inside your head?" Snape asked him. Harry looked at the potions master. He noticed then that Snape was sweating profusely, and that his face was much paler than usual. He regarded Harry with an indecipherable expression in the pools of a snake pit, deep and black, fathomless.

"I don't know," he said weakly, still trembling from the effects the last memory had evoked. He felt nauseas. If he were perfectly honest with himself, he truly had no idea at all as to how he had gleaned a clear picture of his worst memory. In two, or perhaps three, strides, Snape crossed over to him, reached down, and pulled him roughly to his feet. Harry swayed, momentarily. He swiped his robed arm across his face once again. When the fabric came away, they bore tear stains as well. He quickly bent over and tried to wipe the tears discreetly. He hadn't even realized that he had been crying.

When Snape rather jerkily shook him onto the couch, he did not protest. Hatred for Snape boiled in his gut that tremulously moved throughout his system as a snake gently but poisonously slithering inside. He had known Harry's mother, and then he had betrayed information to Lord Voldemort betraying her. The entirety of his family had been vanquished because of him, save for the Dursleys, but then that really did not say all that much. Panting, with the rage threatening to spill over into the air around him like crackling magic, he finally found that he couldn't fight anymore. Sirius was gone. Everyone in the world that could have served as a guardian for Harry was dead. A niggling voice in the back of his mind told him that it was his fault Sirius was dead, but he ignored that deduction. Harry really did not care whether he hadn't practiced Occlumency last year, or that the reason the closest people that had ever been a family of substitution had left to fight against Lord Voldemort tonight, in some way or another one.

He kept his head lowered, staring into his clenched hands, willing away his anger. Weariness spread into his very bones. Snape had arrived at a small desk on the other side. Harry could see nothing but a sea of black, which had been in those memories he'd seen the same black billows. He should concentrate on the task at hand, though. Yet he needed to know, more importantly, what his mother had given Snape. He tried to steady himself, to pool himself back to center, but desperation spared with a burning curiosity.

"What did my mother give you?" Harry asked him through gritted teeth. Snape turned. His black eyes filled with a furious glitter, the likes of which Harry had never seen. He almost retracted the question at the expression on Snape's face. It was worse than that of Voldemort's in his worst temper, although he couldn't figure out why. A curious gleam emanated his pallid features, flanked by the hair which sculpted a clear cut straight from the image swimming into Harry's vision of his mother sitting with the young Snape, at the lake. Those black eyes had been averted. He didn't understand it.

"Curious, Potter. Curious indeed." He emphasized the last word, enjoying withholding the information, gloating, in Harry's opinion, over the precious piece that he desperately need to add to the puzzle. He balled his fists tighter.

"What did she give you?" Harry was shaking now, feeling sick from either the effects of the breaking of the memory shields, or his apparition several hours ago. The thundering in his head grew by the minute, raging in a loud reverberation of drums clanging together at once. Snape's lips were a tight, white line. "I don't believe that this is of any concern to you," he said softly. His eyes were roving up and down over Harry's form. Feeling as though he were about to burst, he suddenly cried,

"I want to know what she gave you, and why you betrayed her!" Snape's face went even paler. "I know that you gave Lord Voldemort information about her whereabouts! She trusted you!" He cried, his voice tearing. Snape's eyes widened marginally. Harry fingered his wand delicately, reading himself and its magic in the case that he decided to retaliate. Yet another deduction that he ignored inadvertently, as Snape disarmed him deftly.

"Hey!"

"Sit down, Potter," Snape snarled, as Harry struggled to arise from the couch. He stared at him from across the room, standing against the wall, with both of his arms crossed. Harry's eyes darted towards his right hand, where the two sticks of magic revolved between his thin fingers. He waited with bated breath, sensing that Snape was capitulating in an odd way. Nothing could have lead him to believe that the greasy boy in the memory was the etched-out man of black, with lines creased into a face that appeared eerie in a parchment-colored light. He stood completely still, the magical bulb of ghostly light wrapping around the oily hair. A figure cut out in the pinky yellow wall of Odgen's fancies. Snape had glanced swiftly to the wands in his hand, making Harry somehow nervous. He stared at the potions master, hard, moving to the edge of the couch, his hand clipping the cushions tightly. Perhaps he would finally get some answers now . . .

When Snape shot him a cursory glance, he moved his left arm meticulously over the right one, smoothly resting both hands over the wands. Slowly, he drew his arm over his chest. His sallow face tinged by a dark ferocity, Snape whispered a silent incantation.

"Expecto Patronum."

A silver doe gracefully bounded over to him, before whisking away, like a ghost or spirit passing by with fluid ease into the night.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: **_

_**Hello and happy Saturday to those of you reading, and I hope that everyone had a marvelous and frightening Halloween . . . ha,ha. I apologize for the amount of time I am taking at the current moment to upload and to answer reviews. Be assured that if I did not answer yours it is in no way connected to my appreciation, for I love you all dearly. I have lifeguard training this weekend and a great deal of homework, but I love to spend time with my favorite characters . . . **_

_**The spell 'Indigo Imnesical' will be explained in the next chapter. I'm sure you've all determined by now that this will be written in the vein of mystery. Please be patient, as details will continue to come out as the story evolves. Thanks!**_

_**A special thank you to **__**Darklight phoenix**__**, **__**hazeldragon**__**, **__**13Akira Kuran XIII**__**, and **__**GarnetMonsoon. **_**You are all **_**fantastic**_** people!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**CHAPTER 8 ~**_

The absence of sunlight had been wasted in the brightness of that patronus whose silvery tail flew out of their reach of vision, disappearing into the cold air whipping about the house. It burned into his mind as a sun which blinked at him, and then vanished away, but left its imprint. Harry watched its semblance long after it had gone. The spirit of the doe had wrapped itself around his mind, but he had to think for a minute before he knew the connection. Lily Evans, his mother, without a question had spun herself the form of the doe patronus, because his father had been a steed when he had first produced his own spell in the twisting and the evolving of a person who he loved into a corporeal essence. Harry did not think that Snape's emulation of this spirit, or whatever it was, had been that type of mimic. A patronus made itself known to its castor due to an emotional connection based in the initial memory that happened to present itself to the witch or wizard when uttering the spell. How could that feeling of love, or whatever it was, that filled Harry when he cast his own steed in James Potter's spirit, possibly be a party to Severus Snape when creating a doe that had within its ghostly shadow of sorts, Lily Evans?

Harry's dendrites were on overload. How was it that the doe whose silvery manifestation had been honed according to these properties belonged to the potions master?

"Potter." Harry met the face of the potions master. Snape's voice sounded dead, flat. He couldn't weed through the cool manner, because as refreshingly cold as he usually sounded, all he could hear now was a buzzing noise, coming from a distant place in the back of his mind, droning through space. He shook his head, trying to refocus. But again, Snape looked so abnormal. He met up again with the buzzing sound. An obstacle in the way of studying the man made Harry fall back, against the wall behind him, letting his eyes fall back down to his trainers. The absence of the cold bite made Harry ironically chilly. Eerie shadows crossed Snape's face.

The black eyes were now focused on Harry sharply, and he looked calculating. Involuntarily Harry shrunk back even further. He watched as Snape reached into the long pocket of his robes, withdrawing what appeared to be a torn piece of paper. His hand had clenched around the torn shred so tightly that Harry was put in mind of a boulder that had sprouted mobility somehow.

"The nature of my relationship to your mother, Potter, is none of your concern. Likewise, any of the impending questions that you may have about anything concerning me has nothing to do with you," he spat, staring at Harry as though he were a vile bug. "But," he said, looking at him oddly, "because there is very little time in which to provide you with infor-mat-tion," he silkily enumerated, "which may prove to be beneficial to the headmaster's cause at some point in the future, you can decipher what has been demonstrated at your own- discretion," he said through gritted teeth. Harry thought he knew what that meant. The gleam in those fathomless eyes crackled as a latent fuse, just waiting for Harry to light it. His breathing stilled. The very room may have held its breath as Harry attempted to study the potions master. Now something was terribly different, although he still could not put his finger upon it. Snape's hair fell down like a curtain, hiding away that pale specter. He could have been a ghost swathed in black. Forcibly Harry was put in mind of the teenage Snape all of a sudden, who had reared back into the bed when his father had followed him into his room. Something akin to pity stabbed at him, astonishingly.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Harry said, his voice surprisingly hoarse. With an arm that trembled a little, Snape flung the piece of parchment onto the table to the right of him. Bewildered, Harry walked quickly over to it, while casting Snape a split-second glance, and snatched it up. The potions master retreated into the shadows. Harry straightened the parchment, but then his eyes widened, and he stopped his movement. He had a picture of Snape and Lily Evans in his hand. His breath caught in his throat. Not at the picture, though. Beneath the photo, in the white, or rather mellowed into yellow part of the piece, was the inscription,

'_Keep the locket safe, Severus. No one can know what we discussed yesterday. Please, if you find it to be bearable, the spell must not be opened.'_

"What was the locket for?" Harry swallowed against the tide in his throat. Snape supplied,

"I have no reason to make you aware of what happened." His voice was a cutting-edged stance, but Harry did not realize the dilemma. Gone were those times when he'd tell of the things which meant to him so much, or of any concern that he would hold at any place or within the frame of life itself. Whatever meant anything to him had always been banished.

Really, he didn't know why he had expected any answer initially.

"The locket that Lily Evans gave to me in that memory, which you earlier had invaded had been charmed." Harry didn't know what this meant. What would a locket and his mother with some charm upon it mean in the overall scheme of this context? Would it affect his life? Whatever his mother had done to the locket must have significance according to Snape in some way, he thought. He suspected that when he asked about that element, his question would be ignored though. Why Snape had continued to speak he really didn't understand.

"Okay," Harry said. He didn't want to hear what Snape had forced into a bulging fear stuck inside him like a still hopping, frog. Several times he blinked, rapidly. But of course the locket which belonged to his mother must mean that Snape's patronus truly lent itself to the magical ties of emotional connection. Whatever the spell was, some type of love or heartfelt spirit had bound the two of them. He didn't know what he thought of this, save for uncertainty-

Snape emitted a sound betwixt, in characterization, a slime encapsulated, snort, with a smooth deception, tricked to take on a silky yet vile emulation from a pig, with potion's slime, and- just disgust. He couldn't describe it any other way. Snape let out a curious snort, and pure, unadulterated, disgust. He moved to the other side of the room by way of the dancing shadows, a white face gliding through the cut out robes of black on a purple wall. All of the colors in the house seemed to change periodically.

"We have very little time Potter. The locket was charmed to function in the way that a portkey would function, with the added benefit of utilizing curses known only to the Dark Lord. Since the reason for such use of skill is beyond your mediocre ability to comprehend subtlety, and because you do not need to understand its implications at the moment, in light of dire circumstances, questions on the matter will be voided," he brought his words into a sharp cut off, spinning rapidly around to face Harry. An ugly smile was playing about his mouth. Harry simply watched the rings of charcoal smudges around the eyes of the man in front of him.

"Lily Evans never told me about the nature of the charm. I however, through extensive research and my own need to discover the precise ramifications this locket would provide, came into the secret." Snape was muttering under his breath in a manner which shielded Harry from his person, but when he turned around the room may have been playing tricks with his eyes. He looked slightly mad, just on the brink of denoting that label to a white forehead swathed in a sick light. The bulbs in the room bobbed and danced, licking the various colors of maroon, and red, and green with their meandering fingers of pure yellow streaks. They cut across Snape's face while he continued talking.

"I came into a closet of secrets spilled from the mouth of Lily Evans. Red."

_Red?_ Thought Harry. Whatever did that mean? Snape's breathing went shallow. He started while an invisible hand stroked the fire on the other side of him. Glancing to the right, his eyes alighted with the dancing flames, he mused over what he had been kept in the dark about. And Snape had been kept in the dark, because the wispy in and out huffs of air across the room might have meant-

He didn't know what it meant.

"Dripping from her lips were those words that she had meant for me to have a piece which would never see the light of day."

"What- " Snape's black eyes tried to refocus on him once more, snapping beneath black eyelashes that covered the ire bubbling in his orbs. "Her death, Potter! The locket held to key to her death, and that of your precious father. It was a spell with a red essence based upon the function of Inferi. It had been created to attempt providing protection to anyone who happened to fall into the Dark Arts. Yet, if used against the Order of the Phoenix, or those fighting the cause of- ah . . . evil, it- " Snape's cheeks suddenly went into his face to suggest a swallowing of one of the most ill-formed dabbling that Odgen had ever done. He looked much sicker than he had when placing himself into that pink chair in the living room earlier. The form of the repulsion etched into his harsh features must flaunt over what Harry had seen previously throughout all the time he had known Snape. He didn't know why, but what he determined was no longer significant, concerning Snape and his mother. He could draw any conclusion, and this foreboding premonition would not leave.

"What Dumbledore has told the Order to do is to figure out why in fact, the spell responds to the Dark Lord as strongly as it does presently, and to try primarily to reverse the effect." Harry looked up. Snape's hair served in shielding his face like some kind of canopy spider, without question. Not a sound could be heard, save for breathing. Time had been suspended only for the two of them.

"Why does Professor Dumbledore want me to learn Occlumency now?" He asked, his voice raspy. Snape did not answer him for a minute. Harry was put in mind of a shrinking spider waiting to pounce on its prey or perhaps withdraw into the darkness of its web against the purpling tint. Harry's hands were at his sides, splayed out next to his hips. Interesting lines that he had never noticed on them before became prominent, as the veins crawled across those natural indentations.

"I am not accustomed to the feeling the locket has recently brought upon me!" Snape snarled ferociously, causing Harry to slink further into the wall. A pale hand went around his neck, before Harry truly knew that they were in a troubling circumstance. A locket was removed, its gleaming silver edgings furling around the heart form, glinting at Harry as though it were winking. His suspicions were confirmed when the dread pooling in his gut enlivened the jumping, cart-wheeling shadows in the room. The locket was thrust against the purple wall behind him, where it bounced off of the chilling display of awful ruination, the destructive shadows of the beautiful, or no, perhaps merely exotic and vivacious house worked against the cursed object. It bounced. It did not break, but a red cloud hissed as though it were alive. The wind of fury swept around the dark object, before spitting furiously, the white piece framed with a silver lining settled down.

His teeth bared, Snape reached out slowly, with one opening hand in order to grasp the locket where it lay.

"SSSS." The reflexive noise resembled that of Lord Voldemort. Harry awoke from the stupor clinging to his physical body, shook his head, roughly, two or three times. That locket had a dangerous air gracing its figure, and any type of attempt at trying to provoke it would not result in anything productive.

"Sir, don't touch that." Snape stopped, mid-pause while in a humped bend toward the piece of cloaked-in-misery jewelry. Whoever had worn that must have had a gay time. He didn't move, in the process of listening to Harry didn't know what. His ear cocked toward one side. When he turned, he regarded him with an indecipherable malice.

"It's cursed!" Harry cried, staring at Snape as though he were crazy. Snape stood up and looked at him coolly. "I assure you, Potter, that this locket is indeed cursed. It is not a curse that will affect immediate harm, and it must be worn." Instead of placing the still hissing object around his neck, however, he pocketed it. Harry was sure now that he was totally insane. But if he was not, then Harry's mother had charmed it so that it would protect the bearer, and that led him to another question. He wanted to put his head in his hands, but that would not help the situation.

"Why would you want to touch it?" He asked, frustrated and not in the perfect position to make any demands. "What reason is there for keeping it on you?" Snape ran a thin finger along his thinly-lined, mouth. "I assure you that there isn't." A sickly pallor enhanced the smile spreading across Snape's face. "The reason for keeping this locket near to my person at all times is for necessity rooted within the original spell. Lily charmed this to respond according to the person who held it. It works in the way that the blood wards are spelled to respond to the witch or wizard being protected. If it loses its trust, then such is difficult to regain." Harry thought that he must be hearing everything, wrong. What did he mean by that?

"It is cursed," he said slowly and silkily, bordering on lovingly. "The locket had no dark taint to it and was perfectly lamentable and secure as a foolish item of apparel, until I- " He stopped. His eyes swiveled back to Harry's face. Harry stared at him, a million questions swimming around in his head. Snape's eyes quickly flew back to his pocket. "The magical realms into which the locket plunged after I received it made it something it was not," he muttered. "The magic made a switch, in the same way that the blood wards betrayed you, when you demonstrated an inability to appreciate your mother's sacrifice. Lily was exceedingly good at . . . charms." He fell silent.

"But then," Harry said, struggling to absorb the information, "then that would mean that- the locket took on aspects of the Dark Arts?" Snape snarled,

"A superseding triumph for you, indeed, to figure that out, Potter." His teeth were gritted, in a grinding fashion. He was surprised that Snape did not pain himself.

"No," said Harry, furiously. "That isn't the point," he cried. "What I mean is that the fact that the locket is cursed means that it will give us away, somehow, to Voldemort." He regarded Harry coldly, but remained frighteningly silent.

"Yes," he said in a low tone. "You are correct in the notion that this is a danger to us. The properties of the essence it has adorned are the same which the headmaster feels are a part of the qualities that Inferi have." Harry's eyes widened. Snape seemed reluctant to continue. "Inferi work based upon command and trust. Dark magic, and opposite forces of such, are based in trust and emotion," he said rapidly. "The Dark Lord has recently realized that this magic can be used to his advantage. The locket retains within its spirit the notion that dark magic brings about a long-lasting connection between unwilling parties, such as an innocent wizard like you or I, and evil. The Dark Lord embodies evil. Because the locket perceives itself to have been betrayed, it is willing to work for the Dark Lord, and to force a connection between him, and I. In the way that Inferi must obey the commands of the Dark Lord, a similar relationship has been enacted between the dark magic in the locket and myself. In short, because my cause is against the Dark Lord, it will do anything to counteract my efforts." Harry stood stock-still. _The locket was alive . . . _

"The same type of magic utilized within this object is that which the Dark Lord requires, and which the Order is working to counteract. He requires me to make a potion that he feels will help in his endeavor." The blank, wall-plaster spread of Snape's face made Harry feel a bit wrong footed. Something was off. His voice came from a deep well somewhere through a whine, a ghoulish, hidden grinding, a grating wheel that had no life in it. "Efforts to counteract this require you to close yourself to the mind of the Dark Lord, and what the headmaster considers prudent."

"Is that why I'm staying with you?" Harry asked quickly.

"You- are staying with me because I cannot afford to die at the moment!" Snape yelled, giving the appearance of one that was deranged, taking a fluid turn throughout the spinning colors flying by him. The shadow of his long robes graced this background. "Because the locket works with human qualities, the best way to reduce these, the most proficient, the headmaster assumes, for some reason of his own I imagine, is to surround its magic with those whose efforts are channeled towards its original purpose. Who better than the Boy-Who-Lived?" Harry blanched when he finished.

"And the mind games?" He asked hoarsely, almost afraid to hear the answer. "The reason for cursing Spinner's End was to get to me though our connection?" The reasons for Dumbledore taking actions to keep him with Snape was beginning to make sense. "Wait a minute. Does Lord Voldemort suspect that I am staying with you?" Terror coursed through him, taking with its fury a ghastly devil with long and brittle fingers, clawing at his soul.

"Potter, leave behind your imbecilic notions. The Dark Lord will play various instruments of his own upon your mind while seeking this particular item because of the connection you share, necessarily." Harry's arm began to burn, while a roaring in the pit of his stomach grasped him. "He is not unaware of your recent escapade," he sneered. "But nevertheless, Spinner's End is not ideal. The members of the Order were moved due to recent plans to manipulate the red charm. Training you in the area of Occlumency, however, remains ah- priority," he said nastily, his eyes dancing in a suspicious way. Harry bit his lip, hard. Lucius Malfoy had most likely had more of a stake in the efforts of relocating, in addition to Dolohov, and the attempted attacks on Harry's mind, but what was he to say on the matter? He had bitter musings.

"Can I have my wand back?" Snape blinked in a negligent way, while Harry examined everything in the room that he could stake out- a loud thrumming sought him out, as though Odgen's spirit wanted him as a victim of his tricks. So many weird sounds.

"You are required to learn Occlumency, Potter. Therefore no need for you to run away with any more of your ideas concerning your lust for attention should be provided. Put that arrogance, behind you." Snape's eyes became slits. He turned again, breathing heavily, almost raggedly actually. Harry noticed that the black fabric hiding his demeanor moved up and down, cutting off the aspect of Snape that was human.

"I want to learn," Harry said, adamantly. The humped form of Snape straightened to a rigid flat curtain, putting him in the mind of a walled enclosure. He saw the head rippling on top of the sweeping mound jerk slightly.

"You will." Snape turned to face him once more. Before Harry could even take his want out- or realize that he did not have his wand with him to withdraw- Snape cried,

_"Legilimens!"_

Before he knew what had happened he was thrown into one of his own memories. He found himself in a cramped space, and realized before he even saw the full scene that he was back in his cupboard at the Dursleys. The younger Harry was making an attempt to walk three spaces, forward and back. Within the chipping wood slabs of the enclosure, he found that counting the paces helped to sharpen his concentration and understand a pattern. Three steps to the right, four to the left, forward, and back, again. Well he honestly had never known why Uncle Vernon preferred that he be allowed to explore perhaps the smallest hidden room in his fire, self-made home when Harry had figured out how to hide all of his schoolwork by counting the steps, to a loose board, even though he'd told his relatives that he was dancing, since they believed nearly anything that he said which portrayed an abnormal Harry Potter.

"Potter." Uncle Vernon's meaty head forced a crack into the frail door. "What are you up to in here?" His beady eyes suspiciously went over every item in the room, until they stopped once in a dead-lock upon his nephew. "Well?" Harry swallowed. "I- I wasn't doing anything Uncle Vernon. I was dancing." But before he could get a glimpse of the amazement melting much more quickly into acceptance than would be typical, Harry found himself in a new scene.

"What do you say?"

"Nothing." More chores at the Dursleys, while his head went into overdrive as he tried desperately to regain control-

Voices of every variation that existed converged, until the original whirlwind threatened to lift him away so that he saw nothing but flying feet . . .

"Indigo Imnesical!"

Before he knew what had happened, Harry found himself sprawled flat on his back. He grew dizzy at the sight of all of the spinning animated creatures on the ceiling Odgen had enchanted. Several bats of the red and blue color persuasion, leered at him, while he could have sworn one or two of them threw him a wink. And then, strangely enough, a hovering shadow crept into view-

"Potter! Explain that abhorrent performance you just demonstrated." He shook his head swiftly back and forth.

"I am not sure. I tried to incant a spell." Snape was leering at him like the bats did. His lips formed into a slow, languid smile. Harry felt chilled.

"And did it not occur to you, Potter, that incanting a spell without your wand would have little benefit?" Harry felt a troubling weight hurtle around, imbibing the most embarrassing stomach pain. Oh. Perhaps, he should have refrained from saying the spell. In one fell swoop, his entire stomach sunk.

"I didn't realize," he muttered, grabbing his left arm, which burned, all of a sudden. He frowned.

"What is it Potter?" Snape asked him sharply. Harry did not say anything for a moment, gritting his teeth while pain coursed like an icy venom through his system. He sucked on his lower lip. "I'm not sure," he whispered. "I think that the curse has been reactivated." Snape made a hissing noise.

"Pull up your sleeve." Wincing, Harry removed the fabric by painfully sliding it up his left arm. The long scar from Seraphina's curse was inflamed and red. When he looked at it more closely he could see a thin line of liquid oozing between the ridges. He sucked in his breath all at once. The scar felt as though it were pulsing with a heat. A rock the size of an egg clogged his throat. He bent over to place his elbows over his knees in an attempt to relieve the fiery sensation pounding dully through him. He felt cool fingers running along the length of his arm. The prodding of long nails made him glance up, gasping.

"This needs to be treated, Potter," Snape said in a dire tone of voice, without looking at him. He summoned a bottle of murtlap essence then. A small jar zoomed into the room moments later, entering from someplace upstairs. Harry vaguely wondered where it had been stored, since he had not had a chance to visit all of the rooms. Snape caught the jar.

"Here," he said. "Put this on, and quickly. Harry did so, clamping his mouth tightly shut to keep from yelling out when the stinging sensation hit.

"Um . . . sir?" he asked, as the wound began to close up, and the pain in his body mercifully dissipated. "Has Volde- " he paused. He could not make any mention of Voldemort, because Snape might not answer his questions. He looked back into his face. "I do not know why You-Know-Who has cursed my arm. Is he trying to reach me and the other members of the Order through Seraphina's bite?" Harry asked. Snape's face was smooth, implacable.

"You are not cursed in the same way that he holds a curse over the scar on your forehead. Poison injected into your system made you vulnerable, due to the fact that the bite occurred because of your betrayal of the blood wards." Of course, Harry thought wryly. If he did not walk down to the store with Dudley then nothing would have happened at all, and he would not be here with Snape in the house of one of Dumbledore's odd friends. "The curse, which you have incurred is part of the Dark Lord's attempt to infiltrate the Order so that he might procure the red magic," Snape said softly. His eyes bored into Harry. He began to walk around him, slowly. "The type of magic in this locket is not normal, for it does not lend itself to the normal laws of wizarding magic." He looked at him curiously. "The magic, Potter, in the locket has betrayed us, in the same manner that magic within the blood wards have perceived themselves to be betrayed," he enunciated silkily.

"Magic is sentient, Potter. In the way that a wand provided to a witch or wizard becomes animated when put into the right hands, that of various disciplines also responds to he who has a connection with it. You have always had little ability to break down into minute comprehension those details which require subtlety, and detail of mind. Yours is easily read, Potter. The Dark Lords knows that it will be easy to penetrate. The Order members are fighting against this. You are here with me so that you can learn to protect your mind against a magic which has made you easily accessible, and also because the need to break into your thoughts was created, made stronger," he said in a cold tone, "because you are near to the Dark Arts." Harry felt a sickening feeling travel to the pit of his stomach. Snape was silent for a moment.

"The headmaster has placed you with members of the Order for a reason." Harry's eyes narrowed, while his mind began rolling. He thought he understood what was being said, beneath the surface. "There are many reasons why Spinner's End is not as ideal as we thought," Snape said in a slippery voice. "The primary one has been obvious," he said, his voice crudely mocking. Harry lowered his eyes slightly, feeling cold. He knew exactly what Snape was saying. "Lily provided me this locket, for opposite reasons, but the locket was betrayed." His voice now sounded hollow. Harry was a bit bewildered when he whipped around, walking in the other direction. On his boot heel, Snape made a rapid click, as though he were trying to move in line with the moving spectacle of cupids flying up and down the opposite wall, an ironic addition to the dark setting of silver and red- it was unusual. Harry did not look at his characteristics that closely, generally, but Snape was not trying to be intimidating. And he didn't know what to make of his actions. His mouth twisted in an odd direction.

"Sir?" Harry asked. "Er- are you okay?" He should not have been sorely disappointed if Snape was not perhaps, although for some reason, he couldn't get the picture of his father hurdling towards him out of his mind. There was a tick of some sort in Snape's jaw.

"Perfectly well, Potter," he sneered. "And if I am not mistaken, it is my deduction that we now have Occlumency lessons. Unless, of course," he said softly, his eyes boring into him once again, "you feel yourself inadequate?"

"No, I don't," Harry spat out angrily, his ire quickly stroked by Snape's words.

"Well that is very well indeed," he said in a saccharine, and dense, heavy voice that was overladen with mockery. "Because there is no reason for you to back out of obligations." A bit of yellowing tinged Snape's lower jaw as he spoke these words, now portrayed in a sickly yellow light. Maybe the light wasn't sickly yellow, Harry thought to himself with a start. Those that had been bobbing around Snape's form earlier after he had disclosed the information about his patronus may have been affected by the man's color. Perhaps Snape was jaundiced or something? He could merely have been ill. After all, he didn't look so well, now that Harry saw him in greater detail.

"You still haven't told me exactly why I need these lessons," Harry answered in a wry tone that faintly dripped with an undefined quality, perhaps uncertainty.

"Potter, you have not been listening! Have I not just stated to your arrogant mind that a series of highly complicated, sentient magic has caused the Dark Lord to seek us out, and that the Order has been attempting to gain access to the red magic he requires? I have the locket, Potter. The Dark Lord is determined to peruse the power which the locket encloses. The connection between the red magic within it, and himself mentally is so strong at the moment that he feels its effects. The locket is drawing him to us, by the minute. The Order is trying to prevent this, but you must learn to shield yourself mentally, you foolish imbecile, or else all of their efforts will be for nothing. But of course, that would not concern you now, would it?" he asked, in a lowering tone. "Who would trouble the Boy-Who-Lived? As long as he is safe."

Harry was shaking with anger, although fear had perhaps become a minute factor. He would not admit that to himself, however, while Snape stood over him with his wand out. But even while this took place, he couldn't take in the idea, of why he now stood in front of the potions master with no wand.

"I don't know how to repel you without a wand," he told him honestly. Harry really did want to learn Occlumency. The stakes were too high at the moment for anything to interfere with his knowledge of the subject, if everything Snape said were true of course. That was curious. He hoped against hope that Snape was telling the truth, and if he were honest, Harry did not trust him completely. After all, he had given him numerous reasons to think that his efforts at maintaining good standing with Dumbledore were not always defined, and at best quite bizarre. But at this very moment such was not to be comprehended, beyond the answers that Snape had already provided. The latter was also more than Harry had expected. Perhaps then, he should truly focus on doing what Snape told him to. He sighed.

"Alright then. I will try to repel you without my wand." Snape had yet to answer his response, and Harry felt that asking him again would not present a happy picture. He did not want to look up at Snape's face. He did however, after a moment, because he needed to know what his next move should be. His brow furrowed in consternation.

"Potter, you- " Snape suddenly brought his words to a halt, the dawning of an inscrutable, yet bright, look now crossing his features, making Harry truly confused. Those robes took a one hundred and eighty degree turn. "We will continue this, in an hour or so," he said smoothly, the voice that Harry knew in such a bone-chilling familiarity covered up with a few rough patches. It sounded, nearly, scratchy. Harry would have mistaken his voice for a twisting snake that did not have a clear purpose. One that was covered with bumps, hiding its smooth scales. He took a step forward, watching Snape's back uncertainly. His arm still trembled a little, but he forced himself to ignore the faint remnants of pain running up and down the scar. He opened his mouth, and then closed it.

"Alright," he muttered. He cast a few, furtive glances in Snape's direction, before deciding to cut a path to the open doorway leading into what he supposed was the kitchen.

Harry walked out of the room as he found his feet to be very interesting. They jutted out beneath him as his body made towards the door. Strange it was that never before had he watched the slight patterns that his toes cut out, or how narrow they were . . . he glanced back up towards his potions professor. Snape had his head bowed deeply, his long black oily hair falling in strands around him. For a reason that he could not fathom, he shakily turned back.

"Sir?" Harry asked, cursing his voice for its shaky quality. His whole body trembled, but he blatantly ignored the effects it had upon him. Between the man swathed in black and himself, he could not determine what it was that lingered in the air, so delicately, that he thought that perhaps Snape's labored breathing would break it.

"What Potter?" he growled furiously. The effect was lost, however, on Harry himself, because he didn't hear anything in the growl save for a thin ice-breaker beneath the surface, something that changed the way Snape stood, leaning towards the side, a quality that he did not understand. Snape turned to face him. The face shimmering within the tickling darkness was pure white. It seemed to tease the darkness in that strange light. "Your mother may have been excellent at charms," he muttered in a low tone. "That does not however excuse the Order from the curse of the locket."

"I don't understand," Harry said.

"No?" Snape looked at him oddly. His eyes traveled to the scar on his forehead before darting quickly back to his face. "Pray tell, Potter, how could you possibly escape this magic? That which the Dark Lord seeks. The blood wards have betrayed you, Potter. The locket provided to me for my own- protection- turned against me." He paused, his mouth shifting. "But then," his face turned into a horrible, ugly leer, "surely it would not have affected anyone save for myself. Use- your head," he continued in that low tone. Harry looked up at him, anger coursing through his system, in spite of the weakness he felt, "the red magic that I have described which the Dark Lord is after, a form derived from the most ancient Dark Art persuasions, is in actuality, more." Harry stayed silent. Snape sucked in a breath through his teeth. It sounded as though he were hissing. "What we are battling is a magic, that recognizes what we think, and how we feel. It understands where our loyalties lie and responds accordingly. Red magic can be our greatest asset or our worst enemy. All powerful and ancient magic that help to protect one against the Dark Arts will also have the opposite effect, if responding to betrayal." Harry said nothing.

"If you do not learn to shield your mind against the Dark Lord's attacks, then your betrayal will sell you to him, as surely as it sold me when I betrayed Lily's locket."


	9. Chapter 9

_**A special thanks to hazeldragon for her continued reviews.**_

_**{A/N: **_

_**With love, readers, I am planning to work through the previous eight chapters to make this piece more comprehensible. I realized that my poetic style is interfering with the ability to read this in a way that is clear, and more importantly engaging. However, this chapter explains much of the riddle carrying us through the previous ones, and I hope that you will take the time to read and to enjoy it. I wrote it not only to clarify different matters, but to bring to light the element in the relationship missing for so long between Snape and Harry, or at least bring us closer to that light, at least I hope. Please let me know what you think of it. You know that I always appreciate your responses. Whatever is plaguing the potions master has made an impression on Harry, while secrets from his past slowly manifest themselves. I don't think it's possible for there to be anything save for something fulfilling by the time I've finished writing this, that is, between Snape and Harry. It is extremely important for me to absolve the potions master of the pain he feels. I hope that, together, we will work towards making this happen. Until next time, readers.}**_

_**Severus Snape had indeed loved Lily Evans . . . **_

**I do so love this . . . **

**{Disclaimer: Not mine, as you know (smile) }**

**Chapter 9:**

Several hours before Harry had gone to bed, burrowing himself beneath the two sheets on the cot in the moonlight of the dark room, and had closed his eyes. This attempt proved to be a fruitless one though, with continued visions dancing about in his head in the attempt- of the way that Snape's face had eerily glowed in that strange light, with an occasional patronus walking daintily across those sweeping black robes. Harry lie there until he finally opened his eyes, staring up at the pale midnight blue ceiling, a softer pigment than that of the original, because in the moonlight, a new shade was cast across it. His breathing became inexplicably shallower. Across the lighted magical area above him, the doe pranced, then disappeared, revealing Snape's tall, dark form, who stalked toward him, his face alighted with a strange malicious gleam, before he vanished once again- and Harry saw only the creative taste of Professor Dumbledore's friend Odgen.

Slowly, he lifted the sheets off himself, trying to calm the waves of his furiously spinning mind, and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He needed answers, and if learning from Snape himself was not possible, then he would need to gain that knowledge on his own. That's when Harry had an idea. He crept to the door of the scant room, glancing around at the wicker chair- the rollaway cot, and the extremely shabby, chipped and haphazard-looking bureau- while shaking his head to himself. This particular item had only three legs, and so dipped down diagonally onto one of the corners. The rest of the house had been tailored with what seemed to be immaculate care, judging by the pink armchairs, complimenting flying cupids along the walls- strange fellow, Odgen.

Listening at the door while his hand grasped the handle, Harry attempted to quiet his breathing. Not hearing a sound, he opened it, managing the act with very little noise. He craned his neck around to get a view of the corridor beyond. He did not see any sign of Snape. No heads of ghosts bobbled about, and no oddities that could be identified with their creator. Harry vaguely mused that Dumbledore had probably consulted with his friend about his own dress-robes. The thought almost made him chuckle, but he suppressed it with little effort. He placed his hand upon the wall and felt about in the pitch-blackness, rather, concentrating on what he needed to do. His heart was pumping so fast that, in his paranoia, he thought that Snape could hear it, even though he suspected that the potions-master was staying on one of the top floors. The Marauder's Map! His brain gave a jolt. He had been so intent upon sneaking around for information, that he had stupidly forgotten his map and invisibility cloak. Making a dash for anything that had to do with Snape was bad enough, but getting caught as he raced for whatever those clues were-

"Harry!" He nearly jumped an entire foot in the air, or so he imagined. He quickly spun around. The head of a round-faced man floated behind him, smiling in a candid way, which gave him the distinct impression that the spirit had never been more glad to see anyone. "It's been awhile, hasn't it, my friend, since we last me?" As it had only been a few hours, and Harry didn't think that the circumstance to really be that daunting, he didn't answer. Wait a minute. Suddenly he had another idea. Perhaps the ghost could be of use to him, after all.

"Er- you've been here a long time, haven't you?" He held his breath, secretly crossing his fingers behind his back. The head frowned at him very slightly. "Longer than you could ever imagine, my dear boy. I've been here since my great, great grandfather, Sir Marlo the Eighth, went- "

"Right, well- " Harry interrupted quickly, "I thought, since you probably know everything about this house and its owner, that you might be able to help me find something that has to do with Odgen and the history of this building." The invention had miraculously came to him, out of thin air, and Harry could not help but to be rather proud of his quick thinking. The head smiled brightly at him, and said,

"Why, the most important event took place about two decades ago, at about the exact time when my own cousin of the fourteenth generation of Marlo's, decided to take matters into his own hands, about a family feud that all started because of a pumpkin- "

"Right," Harry said, a bit more forcefully, starting to get irritated, "Well, I'd love to hear about the history of your family sometime really, but it's just that right now I need to know where an item is that plays a part in defeating Lord Voldemort." The ghost head seemed to shake itself several times, although Harry could not tell for certain, unless these spirits, or whatever they could be labeled, typically vibrated in a jerky manner.

"Oh, please do not say his name, young Harry." The wide eyes in the broad face traveled up to the lightning scar on his forehead. "I knew at once who you were." He nodded in a supercilious manner, "but I did not want to say anything, for, you know," and here his eyes slid to the side, "it is not always good luck to speak about the fates in such a blatant way. Some may call it, rude." Harry truly did not have a very good understanding about what the ghost meant, but he kept his silence, more annoyed than he had been moments before, but deciding to hold his tongue in the hopes that he was about to get some assistance. "Of course I will help you to defeat the Dark Lord," the ghost added, "but you know, the history of the house is so much more impressive . . . " he trailed off. He then proceeded to stare into space for several moments.

"Er- okay," said Harry, at last, trying to call him back to present. "Okay, well, then- can we start?" The ghost snapped to attention once more, the round eyes glowing with raptness, as though it were all eyes and ears for only Harry. He felt his face heating, for some inexplicable reason.

"Whatever you say, Harry, whatever you say of course, my dear boy! I would love to tell you about the history of this house, anytime at all, just follow me . . . "

"Well," said Harry, running to catch up with it as it zoomed down that hallway in the space of about two seconds, "would it be possible to um- lay down some ground rules?"

"Of course, my dear boy, of course," the ghost admitted absently, while flying up and down in a vertical arc, looking for something that Harry apparently could not see among a tall cabinet.

"Well it's just that- I'd like to keep this secret from the potions master, because if he finds out then he will probably try to stop me," Harry attempted to explain, while the ghost whizzed around him like a blast of air, "and this is really important in the cause of defeating Vol- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," he amended, hastily. "So we need to be quiet," he added, looking at the ghost dubiously. The ghost stopped. It looked at Harry, and then nodded, vigorously.

"Oh, of course. Never fear, young Harry. "We can keep this quiet from whoever you want. Now," he said, rather pompously, the head becoming rather tilted as though it were attempting to draw itself to its full height- Harry had to muffle his laughter, "I do believe that you wanted to know something about the history, of this building?" He peered at the boy before him, scrutinizing him carefully. "Ahem- what is it you want to know?"

"Well," said Harry, a bit put out by this abrupt entrance into the discussion, as he truly didn't know what it was- "have you seen a locket anywhere?" he asked desperately. He couldn't think of anywhere else to start, and this seemed like a good beginning. "It's rather large, and it's to be worn around the neck, obviously . . . but the lining is silver, and the body is made up of gold." He bit his lip. A look of concentration appeared on the ghost's face.

"No, Harry. I haven't seen anything like that. Except for the one on the man who always wears the dark robes who- "

"That's the one," Harry said forcefully. He scarcely kept a growl from manifesting in his voice. The head jumped back a bit, with a reprimanding scowl.

"There's no need to get nasty." Harry gritted his teeth, willing himself to be patient.

"Sorry," he said. The ghost smiled brightly. "That's quite alright."

"Was it anywhere else? Did you ever see him take it off and put it anywhere?" He asked.

"No," the ghost answered, with a puzzled frown.

"Alright," Harry answered, resigned. After a minute, in which Harry did not offer any other reply, the ghost-head mused aloud,

"You know, I always thought personally, that if someone asked for advice, that they actually wanted someone to help them?" He looked up at the ghost's prodding statement.

"Sorry," he muttered. It was then that he finally took a good look at his surroundings. Although the lighting in the room made vision difficult, those bulbous lights which had shined upon Snape earlier during their interchange in that pale semblance reminded him with a start of all of the many reasons he was here for. He walked over to one of them hanging from the wall behind him in a long arc, due to its broken fixture that made it seem droopy, and rather sad, touching it without really thinking. He felt desperation coursing through his system suddenly. All of the Order members were out risking their lives while he sat holed up with Snape, with a need to learn Occlumency. _'Magic is sentient . . . ' _Snape had told him.

"I need to discover what Red Magic means. I need a better explanation than what Snape gave me," he spoke almost to himself now. The ghost's face lighted again at once, but Harry did not understand why. "Would it be helpful if you had the ability to look at some of the notes of this- what do you call him? Snape?"

"That would be great," he answered immediately. "But . . . how do you know where Professor Snape keeps his notes?" It did not seem like a plausible explanation to say the least, considering what he knew about Snape. He highly doubted that the dour potions master was of the type to keep any important hand-written notes simply laying around the house, especially one in which Harry was also present.

"I saw them, just a couple of hours ago in fact. They are kept in a room that typically remains hidden to a casual observer, but since I, of course, am not casual," the ghost allowed, while Harry conceded that this was very true, "but nevertheless, since I am with you, we may be able to reach them. The room had been created for secrecy purposes, as Odgen was a strange fellow, as you know, who had quite a few experiments that he didn't want anyone exploring. Your Snape might in fact have left them out, since he would not expect you to be able to get into the room. But come, follow me." With a hope that he didn't dare name fluttering in his chest, Harry followed the head out of the room.

It floated past the threshold to the kitchen, which Harry couldn't see very well from this bleak perspective. All that he could determine of its nature came from the clutter that he bumped into on his way.

"Oww," he hissed.

"Shhh, Harry." He looked at the ghost in disbelief. Five minutes ago the head had been only too happy to give away their position. Not that he wanted Snape to hear them of course . . . but he had still feared that its raucous, bubbling digression about all of its family history would end his quest much sooner than he hoped. As though seeing his confusion, the ghost said merrily,

"It's a secret room, Harry. It doesn't seem right to talk around it." _So the room was alive, in addition to the sentient magic, according to the ghost,_ he thought skeptically. With an enormous effort he held back his retort to this. They went through the small room and into yet another in the house which Harry had not yet seen. This one immediately held a different tone to it. The strange aura was apparent, even before he crossed the threshold of the small mahogany wooden entrance- he sucked in his breath, unconsciously. Not a stick of furniture populated the area. In fact, he realized as he glanced around, the entire room was merely made up of four, blank, white walls, and a fireplace. Following the ghost to the mantle, Harry stared at the grate, as though he had become involuntarily transfixed by the dead ashes. Then a slight stirring went up, whisking the ashes around. They circled themselves behind the metal until, to his horror, they flared to life. The flames that erupted were not orange but rather, an extremely dull, green.

_'Enter.' _A snake that Harry had not seen, carved into the board composing the mantle above the fire, no longer than his finger, slithered as it spoke to him.

_'Thanks,'_ Harry said automatically. The mantelpiece swung outwards to reveal a dark tunnel. He barely registered the fact that he had reverted to Parseltongue while he stepped into the dank corridor, nor the look of utter disbelief on the ghost's face, who ogled him blatantly before floating ahead of him. Harry, now keeping his eyes trained on the meager light blinking in the short distance at the end of their passage, shut nearly everything out of his mind save for the one focus he clutched, his motions all geared toward attaining those documents that Snape had been working with. He held onto that one thought.

They came upon the flickering light, and as he got closer he saw that a lamp ensconced by a glass holder now gave way to their destination. It flickered once or twice, before dying, right as Harry stepped over the stone of the corridor, up to a door that was painted black. He glanced at the flickering lamp before his eyes roved to the ghost's head beside him. The head nodded assent, so he pushed the door open. The view that assaulted him shocked his eyeballs for a minute while he quickly adjusted to his newfound ability to see. As the darkness faded, a chair, two miniature, claw foot sofas, a small desk and a hard-backed chair were portrayed. The silence in the room was deafening.

"Um- is it always this quiet?" Harry asked. He didn't know why, but an eerie feeling had suffused him as soon as he had entered the chamber, enhancing the anxiety that he hadn't completely registered when he'd stepped into the room which held the fireplace.

"Oh, yes, Harry," the ghost said. It looked around nervously, its brow furrowed, adding to his nervousness. "That is why I asked your silence, moments ago. It seems that, no matter what I'm thinking about, all of my thoughts vanish when I'm anywhere near this room." The head shook itself vigorously for the second time. "The strangest feeling always comes over me," it mused to itself. "Must be something about the way that Odgen placed his enchantments over this area. He is a brilliant man, and since no one is meant to know the secrets in this particular room, I suspect that the complex wand-work has been done in a series."

"A series?" Harry questioned.

"Yes. The more intricate the design for any brainchild that is construed with magic, the more layers will be required." Harry was lost.

"Several layers of spells can be put upon whatever the interest is, and the more plans you have for that certain interest, and usually the more secretive it is, the more layers will be necessary," the ghost added.

"Oh," he said, taking a minute to absorb this. Chills running up his spine at the idea of the precise secrets that such a room in Odgen's house held, for he could only imagine what his brilliant mind had conjured, Harry turned toward the desk that stood mere feet from him. He could plainly see that a stack of papers had been piled in a neat layer upon the surface of it, although they were hardly visible in the dim lamplight that hung over the pile in a haphazard way. He noticed that this lamp, as well, barely hung on its fixture, and wondered whether all of the lights in the house were like this. It must have been another one of Odgen's incomprehensible plans, though he could not fathom, for the life of him, why anyone would want their lights to be dangling from the walls, about to fall at any minute.

"Those are the papers that I saw your potions master writing upon earlier," the ghost whispered into Harry's ear. He gulped, and nervously extended an arm towards the documents. To his immense surprise, he pulled a blank page forth. "There's nothing on them," he hissed back at the ghost. Before the head could answer, the page brought, apparently on its own, to its surface of white, red letters. He suppressed a gasp. The letters quickly formed into words, and then into sentences.

_ The spell 'Indigo Imnesical' was produced by the greatest Dark Wizard of our time, but the fact that it is rarely seen in any capacity save for the Dark Arts nearly clarifies this trait._

Harry shivered as he read over the last phrase. _'Nearly clarifies this trait.' _It took him a minute to recall that he had actually said the spell the author spoke of when he had broken into Snape's memories earlier. Was it possible that he was being possessed by the Dark Lord? A sickening feeling swept through him.Whoever, or should he say whatever, was writing seemed to pause, as though taking time to deliberate. Finally the words developed once again.

_It is said that the spell was produced because of the Dark Lord's nearly insatiable obsession with the creation of Inferi, those immortal beings classified in the same category with Horcruxes. Using live magic to create an entity that obeys your command, is documented as the official reason for which the Dark Lord initially put Inferi to use, and the reason for the creation of the 'Indigo Imnesical spell.' Both forms of magic require the spell-bearer to not only order commands, but to also use their own spirit, or magical aura, to enliven them. _

His horror grew. He unconsciously gaped at the words, afraid to fathom what exactly that passage implied, trying to ignore its meaning, desperately.

_In a similar manner to which a wand attaches itself to its owner when first choosing a wizard, due to a mutual connection between the two, the caster who brings Inferi to life, who makes these spirits of the dead rise up and obey him, as well as he who casts the spell under that nefarious label, 'Indigo Imnesical,' also develops a connection with these objects of magic. Such a connection is characterized by 'Red Magic.' _

The speaker paused once again. Harry nearly wanted to refrain from seeing what would be written next. Regardless, they predictably continued their slow, laborious trek across the page.

_Red Magic is commonly seen in the wizarding world. The Dark Lord is said to have developed it when uncovering the secrets that had circulated around talk of the dead for so long, before he revealed to magical society how Inferi could be brought back to life. When knowledge about Inferi infiltrated the land, discussions about the dead, especially within circles prone to the Dark Arts, turned from confusion to what dark patrons perceived as 'enlightenment.' The Dark Lord and his followers soon discovered, thereupon, what part Red Magic could play in assisting them to what they called the greater glory. In order to satisfy the desire for power and control, he therefore developed another branch of magic. 'Sentient magic,' or 'Red Magic,' as it is properly known as, takes the concept of Inferi by establishing a connection between the caster and the object. Red Magic can be cast upon a human or an object, and such an entity must obey the commands. _

Harry was reading so fast now that his eyes were blurring.

_During recent years, it was discovered by some members of the Order of the Phoenix, an organization founded by Albus Dumbledore for the purposes of fighting against the cause of the Dark Lord, that Red Magic can have duel purposes. Wizards attempted to use it for the opposite reasons that those who follow the Dark Arts use it. However, because the magic is tied to the caster, it can easily perceive betrayal, so those who use it for this purpose must be properly cautioned._

He waited for about sixty seconds, and when nothing else appeared, he turned to the other sheaths of paper lying beneath that one. His hands trembled to a small degree, for his brain had absorbed a shock when he had learned what Red Magic actually implied. He didn't know why, for it wasn't as though-

"Having fun, are we, Potter?" Harry whipped around faster than would have been perceived possible in any other situation, accidentally hitting the desk, causing the large stack of papers to fall unceremoniously all over the floor. He stared up at Snape, wondering when he had discovered his location. Not that it mattered now, though.

"I was just . . . " Harry whispered. His words died, while the potions master stared down his hooked nose at him, a prominent feature in the dark light of this room masked underneath all types of shadows. Snape's nose was like a white, crescent moon. He swallowed. The thin line of his mouth whitened, becoming a faint line, barely visible beneath his nose.

"You thought that you would come into my study, so that you could determine for yourself whatever I had been hiding from you?" he asked. He said nothing. Snape's eyes narrowed, while the two slits of his nostrils flared, dangerously. "I would suggest, Potter, that even though you are so abominably self-centered that you cannot dream of responding to a mere question asked by your professor," he continued, his mouth curling in an ugly way, "that you respond to my inquiries." Harry had no idea what to say. Snape was right on all counts, and, with his brain still spinning from all of the information he had gathered, he didn't think that there was any way in the world that he could hide what he had done. He stared into his black eyes, calmly, therefore, a minute later. Immediately he felt him enter his head.

When the potions master came out, Harry was breathing shallowly. He backed up against the desk, trying to ignore the pounding headache that he could detect trying to make a stubborn entrance into his mind.

"So," said Snape softly, his dark eyes darting towards the papers now gathered all around the floor, out of order. "You decided that you would snoop, putting your nose where it didn't belong, into my personal belongings." Harry thought that this was a little bit of overkill. Sure, he had made a deliberate attempt to find the documents the ghost had told him about- where was the ghost? He looked about himself quickly, realizing that the head which had floated out to this room with him, had disappeared. _Great,_ he thought to himself, _just great._ It hadn't been a deliberate attempt to go into Snape's own things, he reasoned, looking back into the man's angry face, and knowing that he didn't have a chance, no matter what he said. He tried, therefore, to focus his energies on trying to get out of his predicament with as little pain as was possible.

"I wasn't trying to go through your things," he said carefully, tasting the words on his tongue as though this were a test trial, all the while feeling utterly ridiculous, "I was just trying to get some more information about the Red Magic that you had mentioned when you spoke of my mum- "

"And you felt that this concerned you, Potter?" Snape spat. "I told you, that I would be the one to deal with this did I not? I gave you all of the information you needed to know!"

"No, you didn't!" Harry said angrily, feeling his body heat up with a great fury all of a sudden. At once, this entire situation seemed utterly nonsensical. Snape had allegedly rescued him from the Dursley's after Seraphina, another snake of Lord Voldemort's apparently, had sunk its venom into him, while a magic that he hardly had any concept of whatsoever had betrayed him, putting him, and the entire Order, in danger. He needed to Occlude his mind so that Lord Voldemort did not use it against him, although he had no idea how, and Snape- stood here, before him, telling him that he was going to withhold all of this from him! The injustice of it was just too much. He didn't think that he could stand it.

"I endangered my friends, the entire Order, not to mention the Dursleys, who Dumbledore moved into Grimmauld Place, we had to leave Spinner's End and come here because of this Red- whatever it is, and you- I almost lost my arm over this! And you- stand here telling me that- it's none of my business basically, sneering like you always do- and I-don't care!" Harry yelled furiously, throwing away all caution now, ignoring the fact that he was being incoherent. He didn't care anymore. Sirius was dead, the only living tie to his parents that would have gave him a home, and he wouldn't have a fighting chance against this implacable wall that was Snape, standing before him while he continued to put everyone else in danger. He couldn't take it anymore!

Snape stood silently while all of this was going on, not bothering to stop him, with an indecipherable expression on his face. Harry turned away from him, swearing. Needing to do something, anything, to vent his anger, he picked up the nearest item to him, which happened to be a book sitting on the desk, and flung it across the room, not even caring that Snape was standing there watching him, or that he was acting childish.

"How dare you! How dare you not tell me anything! Especially when it concerns my mum and you- " He reached down to pick up the heavy metal placeholder behind him to throw, when a dreadfully tight grip closed over his forearm, stalling him for a minute. When he looked up into Snape's face, he paused, momentarily taken aback. It was twisted in a way that was nearly demonic, a flaring in the black eyes making him imagine that a real fire was stirring behind them. The thought crossed him that Snape may have gone temporarily insane. Unconsciously, he tried to take a step back, but found it to be impossible.

"Don't you dare- say her name, to me," he hissed, before flinging him, hard, across the room. Harry fell back against the wood paneled wall, barely noticing what had happened as he caught himself and fell gently down to the floor in a half-crouch. His gaze went back to the potions master's, and remained there, transfixed. Snape's eyes were pinned to him, owning to a maliciousness that could not be characterized.

"How dare you stand there," he snarled. Harry found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Snape's own, nearly mesmerized by the fury tearing across his features. "How dare you stand where my son should have been. Don't- ever- mention- Lily- to me- again!" Then he raised his wand, and Harry cringed. A minute later however, a blasting charm had struck one of the lamps, which came spiraling down to the floor, where it crashed into a million pieces, in an array of glass shards glinting in little reflective rainbows. Snape spun around rapidly, gliding towards the tunnel.

When he had gone, Harry made no attempt to move from his position. He sat there for endless minutes, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Severus Snape had indeed loved his mother, Lily Evans.


	10. Chapter 10

**A special thanks goes out to:**

**Hazeldragon and bookivore, for their lovely reviews.**

**A/N: ****Things are becoming rather dark- well, that is certainly an understatement, but I find myself more attached to these characters regardless. I think that through suffering we truly find within ourselves an untamable strength, and a fervor that we never knew we possessed until we meet challenges that draw us closer, and that pull upon that needed courage. I hope that you will begin to see in these characters what I see, as this story changes and continues to develop. If you are reading, I thank you for your interest. Writing tip for the day: find something to say . . . **

**Good luck to all of you.**

_**Chapter 10 ~**_

It was terribly dark. In the far distance, the exhaust of a driving car meandered into Harry's ears, while he breathed in deeply, and glanced up at the sky above him. Clouds barely visible, moving across the expanse clouded his eyes, for they seemed to be glued upon those spectacles, as if they were ghosts, barely seen, but blinding. Another car rolled past. He hugged his knees tightly to his chest while the motion burbled deep inside his chest, threatening to spill over, wanting to block out everything for just a few moments. A bell chimed in the distance. He was reminded of Christmas Eve, a long long time ago, when he had been forced to watch Uncle Vernon's meaty hands plunge into a large pile of some of the finest tissue paper imaginable, which Aunt Petunia had purchased from one of the pharmacies down the block. To him, as the shiny new razor was lifted from its pristine box, that gold-colored tissue paper was something to be envied. He had sat quietly behind the couch while the Dursleys had opened presents, pretending that he was a part of the ceremonies, unbeknownst to any of them. When they had finished, he had even found a few toys that Dudley had broken within the first five minutes, and saved them from being thrown away by his aunt, due to the fact that his cousin did not care to know whether or not Harry pulled anything. Most of the time he was watching him close, but this time, Harry was able to snatch a few things.

It had been one of the best Christmases that he had ever experienced at the tender age of between five and seven- he couldn't really remember the particulars about the occasion. Most of the fissures around the memory had faded into nothings, so that it nearly suffocated his head in the form of a hot, rubber band twisting around him in the form of Uncle Vernon's greedy arms seeking presents. The memory itself had become more poignant, and more horribly cruel, and like wrapping paper, torn about the edges, so that all that was left intact, was the middle. The chimes again called out to him in the distance, and an airplane shot over his head as he sat on the cold, stone-patterned porch outside of Odgen's eerie house. It was the middle of the night, well past midnight, and Harry's dreams tormented him tonight. For the summer, the atmosphere had grown to a cooling extent far beyond usual, and he felt slightly out of touch. Another car rolled by . . .

He thought about all of the times that he had spoken with Sirius, and the reasons for which he measured them to be so precious. He felt terribly cheated, while the exhaust fumes seeped into his brain and oozed throughout all of the roaming molecules in his body, searching for something to grasp onto, as if the smoke itself were cancerous. There was no word for its evil, save for, of course, the obvious force against which they all fought.

There wasn't anything that he could do to make things better, for he quite simply had blown it. He didn't want to think about where he had been brought, and the direction in which he had unwittingly gone. From that earliest Christmas, to now, Harry felt cheated. Because between all of the events that were in the middle of those two sides of time for him, he knew, that, ultimately, most of this was his fault. That which wasn't, well, he wouldn't think about it . . .

He knew that time was running out for the Order and for his friends. He didn't know how he knew it, but the natural instinct that always led him to truth told him about it. He tried his hardest to brush the tantalizing, cruel, and malicious idea aside, but it kept wandering back, teasing him. He needed to go back to Snape to try and discover whether he had any new insights on the situation. This would not be easy, of course, in light of all that he had revealed, but even against the possibility of being at Snape's mercy if he picked up his wand, the potions master was his only source of information. He did not of course think for a moment that Severus Snape would willingly give up any news, and he dreaded facing him, after the debacle earlier. He didn't even have any inkling as to where the professor had disappeared to, after he had caught Harry in the secret room where he had been keeping his work. Harry had never seen him so livid. He'd looked as though he were teetering on the edge of a great precipice that once crossed, would give way to oblivion, where Snape would fall forever. He would float into nothingness like Sirius. Gulping back his emotion, Harry went into the house.

The professor was nowhere to be seen. He had barely crossed the threshold when a dark shadow flounced through the living area, into yet another cold enclosure of the house. It was in fact truly cold in Odgen's place now, although he thought that some of the temperature change may have had to do with his own sweating body, that did not warm for some reason in spite of the perspiration dotting his forehead. If he'd wanted to, Odgen could not have made the house more bizarre in any fashion, and Harry knew with utmost certainty that it had been tailored perfectly to his wishes, if this was what he'd had in mind. He didn't even take the time to question the shadow. It could have been a live animal, or anything else in keeping with the strange tastes of this man- it didn't seem worth it to think about it anymore.

The potions master could be anywhere, Harry assumed, and even may have left the premises, so he did not want to scout out the entire labyrinth of this weird place. He sat down on yet another pink comfy armchair and waited for Snape. He wiped his forehead with a shaky hand. His body had not retained any of its normal stamina ever since the bite Seraphina had given him, and after apparition, coupled with Occlumency, he felt that his health was at an all time low. Harry wanted to shut his eyes against the billowing clouds outside, for he despised any reminders, at the moment, of the past, and the present as well. He wanted to disappear into this armchair and never wake up. However, he knew that he needed to learn Occlumency, and he believed that Snape was in fact trying to help him. Oddly, he believed in him completely. After what the potions master had been forced to reveal, Harry found himself unable to help empathizing with him on some scale, and at the very least, trusting him for the most part.

There would always be some doubt in his mind he supposed.

Nevertheless, in spite of all of the other questions that would be pushed onto a ledge at the moment, the most important aspect he would need to answer in a moment. A dire urgency trembled through his body, whisking away the melancholy like an instrument that began to shake with its strength of the chord, animating him. If Snape did not arrive soon then he would be forced to seek him out. He found himself wishing with every fiber of his being that he could simply sit down with Severus Snape and begin firing all of the questions that he heart wanted; it would be infinitely better than what he was going through. He could care less in fact, if Snape cursed every particle of his being, with every spell that rested in his nefarious store of various store of dark curses from the arts of his most trusted field of magic. Harry shivered. He had no doubt that the professor would be in a terrible mood. Speaking of which, he no longer needed to- for a black shadow gliding smoothly across the wall of rainbows that forever couldn't decide whether it wanted to be a bright pink or a cherry, entered his line of vision.

"Sir?" Harry questioned from a distance. The shadow stopped, and although Harry could not make out his face, he knew from the arrow shooting upward into the ceiling that the potions master had come into the room. No one could be quite so thin and wraith-like, or so shadowy.

"What is it, Potter?" he asked in a low voice. Harry opened his mouth uncertainly. Then, struggling he voiced his foremost thought, which had been flooding through his system like murky, black water.

"How many hours has it been?" he asked him in a raspy voice. "Since they left? How many hours since the Order went to accomplish their mission?" The thought dragged him down, through the gloom. Snape didn't say anything. The silence permeating the air was thick with consternation, though exactly why Harry could not say. It felt like a tree limb had broken from a branch high above them, and now hung in the air, right in the center above where they stood, swaying dangerously. He didn't know how, but Harry knew that he and Snape were both completely aware of it. Snape prevaricated, and then stepped forward into the moonlight. He drew a long spidery hand up to the black hood nearly encompassing his entire face to draw down. His white face gleamed. The eyes looking at him were a coal that wanted to smear him with their fathomless dark depths, making Harry pine for all of the events of his life that, somehow, he would never be able to execute. Blackness filled him, streaking through his soul, bringing up memories of Sirius, and his friends, the Order, his mission. The green eyes met the black, and leveled with them. Then Snape sighed.

"I do not know where they have gone, Potter. I do not know when they will be back." The eyes were gleaming strangely, but to Harry none of what he read in Snape's face actually made sense. He looked careworn, and tired, yet he also felt connected in some strange way to the potions master. Then he realized with a start that the bulge resting on his chest beneath the dark robes he wore, belonged to a locket infiltrated with red magic. He should not have been wearing that locket, for it would undoubtedly cause the potions master to undergo all sorts of manic delusions, at the very least personality changes. This could not be a bright scenario.

"Take it off," Harry told him, not even bothering to check the tone of his voice. Snape was the only one here with him while the Order attempted to carry out its mission, so he would rather not spend his time with a spy for Voldemort that quite possibly might become deranged under its effects. It was bad enough dealing with him without the use of the locket, and they shouldn't make use of its magic when they didn't have to. "It won't help any of us," Harry said evenly, staring at Snape, hard. "Take it off."

The potions master slowly blinked at him, as though he did not comprehend its words at first. With a snarl, Harry suddenly reached up, grasped the locket, and tore it over his head. Snape looked at him in surprise, then retreated a few steps. Harry watched him fall slowly into the sofa that sat behind him, the comfy arms nearly seeming to beckon him in their bright pink madness. Snape sat rock-still, while he chucked the locket as hard as he could away from him, ignoring its loud 'thump' against the opposing wall. He felt a deep welling of satisfaction at the sound, as if he had inflicted an abrasion upon the object, by the mere sound of that one small flow into the air around them. He turned back to Snape. His face had twisted into several different emotions that may have vaguely resembled scorn, shame, and a horrible anger, but Harry simply allowed the dying embers of a smile to barely touch his face, a clear win for having taught him a lesson.

"I believe," he said smoothly, "that you have overstepped the bounds of our interaction."

"Did I?" Harry asked him. The many emotions twisted into one, torpid whirlwind, and Snape seemed to struggle to breathe for a minute, his breath coming in short pants while sweat beads started to materialize across his forehead. Everything now revealed itself in a way that Harry did not like at all. Snape had managed to thwart his plan, by simply walking into the room. "I need information about where the Order is! I don't know who created this foolhardy plan, but it isn't going to work . . ." Harry's voice dropped a couple of octaves, "it will take me ages to learn how to block him from my mind, and if that's my only defense, then I need to try something else."

Snape had drawn himself to his full height, having apparently regained his bearings. He blinked. The black lashes brushed across the circles beneath his eyes, so Harry could detect, barely beneath their pale shield, a spark that had alighted. He was struck suddenly by the heat that flared in them, throwing a laser, glaringly apparent, between his dark circles and the heavy lids. How it was that all of that fire converged into one area, portrayed so starkly upon his face, was a mystery to him. On something as delicate as the lashes brushing against physical strain, a thunder brewed.

"I am going to tell you nothing, Potter, save for the necessary components of Albus Dumbledore's plan, which of course, you already have. If you dare to question the Order, or any of our actions," he said silkily, as anger gurgled like a storm-swept up fire, stirring back into life after studying Snape had swept it away, yet, as per usual, brought it back to its usual flare, "then you will be very sorry, indeed." Harry stared at Snape. He needed to move past this barrier, he needed to find the strength to overcome whatever it was, that the potions master was doing. The manner in which he manipulated his questions did not help him at all.

"I need to know what the Order is doing so that I can help them!" He yelled out, spurred by that fire. "How do you expect me to be able to help them fight against Voldemort's cause?" Snape stood up and looked down his hooked nose at Harry. "I believe, Potter, that you will find this entire conversation to hold nothing for either of us." He nearly growled with frustration. He stood up, facing him.

"You do not actually mean- " he said, turning around swiftly, with his back to Snape of a sudden, moving in the opposite direction, "you do not know what you are saying. If you really mean that I cannot do anything to help the Order, that I will just let all my friends die- " As quick as a flash of lightning shooting through the sky, Snape crossed over to him, grasping his arms, and flinging him around into his face.

"Do not presume for a moment, Potter, that you are going to undermine all that we have worked towards . . . " his voice fell flat. Harry was so angry that his body trembled with the force of all that he had been forced to absorb in a truly small time-frame. "No one has any intention of going into arms against the Dark Lord," he finished abruptly, a thin-lipped smile slowly gracing his features. To Harry it looked evil. "And don't touch that locket Potter." He stared straight into Harry's eyes, and then released him.

"I won't," Harry whispered, rubbing his arms where, he was sure, Snape's claws had left stinging bruises. "Don't put it back on, then," he added. Snape said nothing to him, simply continued to observe him, with his head slightly cocked. "It is unfortunate, Potter, that nothing can be done about that particular circumstance."

"Why in the world would you possibly want to wear it?" He threw out at Snape, feeling worse by the minute as his trembling grew chilly, and his body was immersed in hot and cold licks of what he could only presume was changing body temperature due to his agitation.

"It has nothing to do with wishes, Potter," he hissed, while he crossed over to the cursed thing lying on the floor. He picked it up, and straightened. "The locket must be worn." He knew that it would do no good to continue asking questions about it. Whatever wearing the locket entailed, though, he did not want to be acquainted with. Yet, as he watched Snape, no doubt was retained in his mind about the nature of what adorning the piece would do, because the professor's mind must be affected for him to even be willing to put it on. Sighing, he stepped forward therefore and said,

"Let me wear it for awhile." The accursed silver piece glowed tantalizingly through the darkened air between them, as though it were calling him. A violent shiver went through him.

"No." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape merely ignored him, and donned the locket once more. Immediately it settled on its chest naturally, and he would not have been surprised if the piece of dark work was actually burying itself into Snape's robes, and that he was not merely imagining the way it sat, just proper. He glared at him, from across the room. "This- " he said, "this isn't going to help us. You can't wear it all the time. Why don't you just let me put it on for awhile? We'll take it in shifts," he said. Snape considered him, or it seemed so, since he could not depict his face very well through the gloom. Taking advantage of the silence, he came closer to Snape so that he could get a better view of his expression in the moonlight. It was indecipherable, although he could hear his breaths, as though the object had already affected him. He wondered how long Snape had been wearing it. Surely he took it off sometimes? But then, since Snape wouldn't tell him anything about it, he did not know why wearing it was even essential.

"How long?" Harry asked him. "How long does it take for it to start to affect you?" The dark eyes flickered very slightly. He almost didn't notice the subtle change in the haggard face.

"It depends upon the wearer," he sneered. "For someone with a greater mental capacity, usually three to four hours, for less . . . " his voice trailed off deliberately, implying the obvious.

"Let me have a go at it," Harry said through gritted teeth. Slowly, as though he were battling hesitation while he was doing it, Snape removed the locket from his neck. Then, he extended his arm out, with a rough, jerky movement. His hand trembling slightly, from fever or what he was about to do, he didn't know, and he took the object from the potions master. He slipped it quietly around his neck, surprised by its weight. He knew that if they were going to share the control over the item, that neither of them was going to get much sleep. Until the Order returned, this was the best that they could probably do. Walking over to the sofa, Harry wondered how long it would be before he would be in the same state that Snape was. He supposed that he would find out soon.

Snape himself went toward the chair diagonally across from him. His body folded into the pink commodity with a graceful kind of fall into the thing. He steeped his fingers, the lank black hair falling over his face. The hair seemed greasier than usual to him from this point of view, and he wondered vaguely how long it had been since Snape had participated in any hygiene endeavors.

They sat like that for hours, and after awhile, Harry fell into a stupor. He had no idea how long he had been wearing the locket by then, and the minutes began to blend together in the fashion of a timeless clock that seemed as though it were destined to pull everything into itself, sucking all of the life into its glass, suspended. Eventually his thoughts became a blur, and he thought that he heard voices around him. Large, purple bats flew overhead and nagged at him when he tried to go to the bathroom . . . even though he wasn't actually moving. Yet, he could see himself walking down a narrow corridor searching for the loo, in an unfamiliar setting. Four bats were swarming overhead taunting and teasing him as they swooped by, and he could swear that one behind him had dug its face into his back in an attempt to push him further along. Harry couldn't see anything except the dark, while these ridiculous animals pushed him like a hen forcing her baby chicks, or a nagging Mrs. Weasely, and all the while, everything around him was turning an odd color of green.

"Potter!"

"Wha- "

"Get up, get up, Potter," he snapped impatiently. "Take the thing off your neck before you get us all into more trouble." Harry blearily opened his eyes. He couldn't depict the exact moment at which he had fallen asleep, or when Snape had descended upon him, like a large, black bat. Blinking a moment, willing the words to penetrate his brain, he simply sat there, staring dumbly. Then Snape's words started to make sense. Slowly, he removed the locket, handing it over to him. Snape looked down at him scornfully. His fingers wrapped around it.

"Do not attempt to keep it on for more than two hours, as you do not maintain the stamina for this magically." Harry opened his mouth and then closed it. He had to concede that in this case, Snape had a point, but he still did not want to be considered weak.

"I'm sure that if I wear it long enough, I'll grow accustomed to a longer time period," he said. To his dissatisfaction, the words were a bit hoarse, as if they wanted to betray what he was trying to express.

Snape scoffed. "Really, Potter, you are surely better than this, even for a terrible liar." He placed it again around his neck. Harry knew that there was no chance to be had against this one and even while he rubbed his own chest subconsciously, he would not attempt to make a greater fool of himself than he already was. The potions master took a seat in the same armchair. Harry had an odd feeling that they were for some reason keeping watch, but for what exactly, he could not fathom. Snape had been vigilant as Harry had finally lost his grip upon reality, maintaining an upright position. He did not question any of Snape's motives though, because at the present he was at least being active in some way, by assisting in keeping whatever force was in the locket at bay. So he stayed where he was, falling into a light doze while the professor kept the locket on his chest.

He didn't know what time he awoke, but a loud cry penetrated his brain as it rested underneath a thick pillow, rousing him. One glance at the clock told him that morning had finally come. While he had floated about in slumber, apparently Snape had fallen into some kind of imaginary battle with the locket. Loud murmurings from his end of the room moved Harry's head in that direction, while he unfolded his body from its cramped position and stretched. The bright sunlight now streaming through the slivers of showing window area fell across Snape's pallid face. He held the locket in a death grip, his features portraying a heavy consternation so dense that the locket might have been boring into it, twisting it about. Moments before, the face on the clock had showed ten a.m. in the morning on a pale-peach wall. Now he looked on into a private moment that he really did not want to be a party to. A murmured name caused his heart to jolt.

"Lily . . . Lily. No, please- " The agony in his voice made him cringe. He was unsure whether his dream had any connection to the magic that he wore, but that was immaterial anyway. Reluctantly Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket, just to be safe, and went over to him. He studied him for a moment. He had never realized how startlingly thin the man was. When he was twisted within his heavy robes, he still looked positively wraith-like. He thought absently that the war had taken a greater toll on him than he, as well as others had probably noticed. His lank hair was plastered to his sweaty brow, the sunken cheeks, two pillars framing the dark smudges beneath his eyes. They jutted out strongly. Perhaps all of this gave him a portrayal that with ease scared students down the hallways at Hogwarts. Perhaps he didn't have to try all that hard . . .

Shaking himself, Harry tentatively reached out and shook his shoulder roughly.

"Wake up!" He yelled loudly. He shook him until Snape's hands fell off the locket, and grabbed him. Harry was not expecting this. "Hey! What are you- " After Snape had opened his eyes, the two orbs stared at him. He waited for reality to penetrate Snape's soggy brain. "Let go of me," Harry said. "You were dreaming." Slowly, Snape's breathing returned to normal. His hands quickly fell at his sides. Harry took a step back as he arose from the chair. He stared at the object upon his chest with eyes that reflected fire, as well as demonstrated a murderous glare that could have been seen upon- a dead corpse. He wiped the hair away from his face.

"Sir?" Harry asked. "Why don't you let me wear it for awhile?" A shaky hand reached down , pulled the locket away, and thrust it onto the floor. Then Snape swayed on the spot, and managed to sit down again somewhat smoothly. He looked at his professor dubiously. He did not think that Snape was even seeing him. His eyes stared off into the distance, focused on something that Harry was not privy to.

"Are you- are you alright?" He asked him uncertainly. Snape did not answer. Harry just stood there looking at him, trying to decide what to do. "Do you want a- a glass of butterbeer or something?" Snape still said nothing. For a terrifying moment, Harry wondered if it was possible that he was under the _Imperius_ curse, but he dismissed that notion quickly.Surely if Snape was being possessed by Voldemort, or he held him under a curse, he would be attempting to harm him . . . he also knew firsthand how drained the locket made you if you wore it for long periods, and his own dream sequence had occurred after only two hours. Snape had been wearing it for an uncanny amount of time.

He had only been in Odgen's kitchen once, but any wizard most likely had a small amount of butterbeer in his stores, so he decided to go and check. After rooting around for a few minutes, he found some in the back of a top shelf, and, although it wasn't cold, he could easily cast a cooling charm over it. When he returned to the living room, he noticed that Snape had yet to move from his position, although the fact that he looked at him when he came in, was probably a good sign. He opened the top, and held it out in front of his face for him to take.

"Here. Drink this," he said. When Snape said nothing, he shoved it up to his face. "It should help," he added. When Snape finally took the can, he sat back down, watching him carefully. After a couple of sips, he seemed to make a hasty departure from wherever he was to his former self. Some of the liquid spilled down his chin and over his front as he drank it greedily. When he had polished off the entire can, he set it aside. Now breathing with complete evenness once again, he placed his hands on the arms of the chair, holding them so tightly that the knuckles turned white, his black eyes snapping around the room fervently. They settled upon him. He cleared his throat deeply, and swallowed.

"How long have I been with it?" he asked him forcefully. Harry warily watched as his eyes continued to dart toward the locket still lying on the floor, wondering what dream he'd had involving his mother that had been so crude as to have this effect upon him.

"About six hours. I would have taken it from you," he said, feeling inadequate, and blaming himself for it, "but I fell asleep," he added mulishly, and slightly defensively as well. Snape stretched, and then stood. He crossed over to the window, but made no attempt to lift the shade. "They should have called by now," he muttered. "He said he would."

"Who?" Harry asked him, feeling the beginnings of dread. He still felt weak, and the past few days were beginning to gnaw at him. Tremors went through him at intervals, making him feverish. He should have asked Snape for a potion sooner, but the reason for what he was feeling had not yet been defined. So much ran through his mind at this point that he couldn't make any sense out of it. Images of his godfather played through his brain like a film, showing his various memories in a sporadic sequence, and he was continually plagued with a melancholy that seemed entirely disconnected from his surrounding circumstances.

"The Dark Lord."

"What about the Order?" Harry questioned, hugging himself tightly. The air seemed way too cold.

"For that it is too soon to tell," he answered, sounding detached from the scene.

"Have you got a potion, or something?" Snape turned back around. His eyebrows slashed together. Harry gestured at himself. "Just- maybe for flu-like symptoms?"

"What is the complaint?"

"I'm not sure exactly. I get these chills, but alternately. Sometimes I'm hot, and then I'm cold." He didn't say anything about his mental state, sure that this would only serve him absolutely nothing. Now Snape looked angry. "How long have you been getting them, Potter?" he asked, his tone cutting, and sardonic.

"Not that long," Harry said defensively, glaring at him. "I just didn't want to say anything, because I wasn't sure if anything was wrong with me."

"And did it never occur to you," he hissed, "that this may in fact be the Dark Lord's method of entering your mind?" Harry's heart sunk at the implication. No, that had never occurred to him . . . his eyes shifted to Snape's right.

"No?" Snape continued. "Well, Potter, then I assume we will find out, won't we?" he added smoothly. Harry just stared at him. "What do you mean?" he asked him. Snape turned his back to him, rapidly moving towards the kitchen. "If the potion does not work, then our only hope will be Occlumency. I can only hope that your power proves more stalwart then it has been in the past," he said lowly. Harry sank into the sofa.

He felt as though he had been doomed from the start, but there was no way that he could get back to center, and he didn't think that every ounce of energy he possessed would keep Voldemort from penetrating his mind and using him to- a terrible thought just struck. If Voldemort could see into his mind then the first thing that he would be privy to was Snape trying to teach him Occlumency. The dendrites in his brain began working ten-fold, shooting sparks in every possible direction. What could he do to assure that he blocked him out entirely? When Snape gave him the potion, even if it worked to diminish the effects of his symptoms, he would still need to gain the necessary skill. And he only had a number of days. His time was extremely limited. Perhaps he could run away? That at least, would take him away from the immediate physical problem. As Snape walked back into the room, Harry tried to suppress his thoughts. He felt dirty, and in some way contaminated. Even if the potions master was able-

It was a hopeless case, completely hopeless. How many brilliant run-ins would he have with Occlumency? Snape handed him the potion, which he took. He drank it without hesitation.

"The potion should work within minutes," Snape said smoothly. "Tell me when, and if, you begin to feel the effects." After a couple of minutes a calming sensation began to spread through his veins. The tremors immediately stopped and he felt his body temperature return to normal.

"There," he said relief washing over him, "I feel it now." Snape watched him carefully from the other side of the room. "Excellent," he said dryly. He pointed a skinny finger towards the floor. "That locket does need to be worn." He turned his back to Harry. He swallowed deeply, looking directly at Snape's back. If he put on the locket, he would make both of them more vulnerable. He made no move to take it, and after a moment Snape looked at him again.

"Ahhh," he said, his eyes narrowed. "You have finally given it up to greater minds than yours, Potter." Harry shook his head. He could feel his heart pounding through all of his veins. "No," he told him. "It's just that I can't- " He took a deep breath, flexing his hands, which were down at his sides. "I shouldn't be here. I'm putting- I'm a danger. I shouldn't be with everyone else." Snape's eyes narrowed even further. He placed a finger upon his lips and ran it across.

"And how do you propose that we accomplish this?"He shook his head once more. "I don't know. I just know that I don't want the first thing Voldemort sees to be you. I'm endangering the entire Order!"

"You do not have a choice!" Snape yelled, for the first time looking really and truly angry, ever since the episode they'd had in his study room. "Do you not think that, if we were not forced into this position, I would be here with you? You are not the only one involved here, Potter!"

"I know that," Harry said furiously. He struggled with his emotions, to break free of his emotions. He began circling the room, his hands balled into tight fists. "You- you don't understand! We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me. I would be at the Dursleys, and Ron and Hermione would be doing whatever it is they do- you would be brewing potions or whatever! Do you think that I can just stand here and watch, while it all happens?" How could he explain himself? Snape would never understand what he was trying to say, and though he knew that he probably would choose to ignore everything he said anyway, he still felt the need to try. "What do you want me to do?" He paused for a minute. "There's nothing I can do!"

"Get a grip on yourself Potter," he snarled. He then pointed a long yellowed nail at the floor. "Pick up that cursed locket and throw it around your neck! I do not have time for this. Put it on and- wear it without complaining. If you'd rather I wear it, if you do not feel that you can handle it, then I will put it on. Either way, it makes no difference." Harry bent to retrieve the locket, and flung it over his neck. Snape's lips tightened when it was upon his neck, as though he were trying to force back words. Harry made for the stairway, but the sound of the potion master's voice stopped him.

"You have two hours exactly. We are in the middle of a war," he said, his tongue slipping out of his mouth to moisten his lips, while his black eyes darkened even more as they stared, transfixed upon the glinting gold and silver. "No matter what, that locket will be worn, and you will learn, Occlumency." Harry's eyes roved up to meet Snape's face. Neither of them said anything. He felt a connection of some sort. Maybe- maybe it was simply a surge of something else. As though he found something to admire in the man . . .


	11. Chapter 11

_**A special thank you to Hazeldragon. Love you!**_

_**A/N: Please, if you're reading, let me know what you thought of this. It was an extremely emotive chapter for me to write. That's all I can say on the matter.**_

_**SM-**_

_**Chapter **__**11 ~**_

Harry stayed in his room for several hours, although the covers remained beneath his lithe form, weighted down by the locket, and he would never have bothered to touch them. He sat in a cross-legged position, his gaze roving over to the window, where he looked out upon a scene of darkness. The hands at his side itched to reach up to his neckline to finger the locket carefully, but he breathed much easier when this did not occur. His hands obeyed him automatically, as though there was a specific reason that he could not touch the sparkling piece- so he contented himself, with the full knowledge of what was going on around him, with staring out at the window, because he would never be able to put into words how, or exactly why- he needed to stare at nothing. Just, nothing. His mind and his heart was heavy, but for young Harry Potter, nothing was what he wanted to see, so that he did not have to feel the dense object, so that he could escape, for an eternity . . . watching all of this nothing was more like seeing blue skies and airplanes swim across his vision while he sat on the porch of the Dursley's drive, as it eliminated everything that plagued him.

Harry wanted to feel something, anything. He wanted to rage at Snape, but he could not do it. He wanted to place his hands upon the window, allowing the cold to spread into them, waking him up somehow, as if that were the only way that he could ever feel more than the heaviness that dragged down his very soul. In the distance, he heard a clock tick. A darkened staircase away. He slowly closed his eyes. A few steps would take him down to Snape, where he could fling the locket down, and flee somewhere, into a stormy night where no one would ever be able to find him- but what good did any of this do? He put his head between his hands, blocking out the view of the black expanse. Harry felt dizzy. Images slowly started to creep over him, pulling at his warped brain, teasing and cutting into his head. He found himself standing before the veil, watching him fall backwards over and over again, his once handsome face, now wasted away, graced with a look of surprise. His heart began to beat violently. It was not possible for all of these various reasons for this current debacle to show him any memories from his past. The red magic was charmed, or rather cursed to cause him pain and torture, but the dreams had a different quality. When he had slept across the room from Snape the scenes had flown through him into a weird sort of phantom-like creativity, as if someone were playing games with him to suit their particular brand of taste. The purple bats were nothing compared to this heavy feeling of melancholy that threatened to shut him down while Sirius's lips, in an 'oh' of surprise played over, and over . . .

He had undergone such emotions with this precise vein of guilt, and depressing anchorage, for at least a couple of days now, and with a jolt that swept through him, he knew that the two were not connected. Awareness flooded him, taking away the blood from his face. He spun around violently, stumbling downwards. Then he made a beeline towards the door-

"Potter. It is time for me to wear the necklace, is it not?" Gasping, he reached up and grabbed the front of the potion master's robes. "No," he rasped hoarsely. Snape's hands came up to grip his own in a vice.

"Stop this at once," he hissed. Harry struggled to calm his breathing, squinting several times. Snape's face was blurry for some reason. He shook his head vigorously. "No. You don't understand. He's controlling me." The eyelids narrowed, his black lashes sweeping down nearly imperceptibly.

"What are you talking of, Potter?" Harry let go of the potions master, taking in two large gulps of air. "I think Voldemort's controlling me." He glanced furtively around the room. "I keep seeing things."

"Seeing what?" asked Snape sharply.

"Images of Sirius." He took a step back, and moved a hand up. He clutched the necklace tightly. "Different from those that I see wearing this. They impact me differently." Harry tried to express what he meant, but he knew that his efforts were futile. There was simply no distinction, save for how he felt. He couldn't tell whether Snape believed him. Harry walked over to the window, not releasing his hold upon the heart-locket.

"Take off the necklace, Potter." Subconsciously, his grip tightened. He screwed his face tight, trying to eliminate all of the messages he was receiving. He put his forehead up against the pane of glass, staring blankly out at the sparkling rain drops glistening upon the few mingling leaves brushing against the house.

"I can't," he whispered. He heard a quick intake of breath, while Snape crossed over to him. He stood somewhere behind him, but Harry did not move.

"Take it off." Snape sounded mutinous, angry. Harry ignored him. He heard something that sounded like a sigh. "Alright, Potter. I did not want to- but you leave me no choice." He felt, rather than saw, a hand move into a pocket. Snape whispered, _"Legilimens." _The memory he had entered just a few minutes ago developed again. It grew to ten times its normal size, amplified in sound, and the colors grew starker. A thundering flooded his bloodstream that he didn't know how to release. Harry wanted to break free of this . . . but the thread of thought stayed with him and locked him tightly in it. His godfather's mouth opened several times as he fell through the veil, as the fire slowly crackled while his face spun out of it, before the Triwizard Tournament. That particular time he had come to give him some mere advice. The chains, never breaking on his arms during the dream sequence that had led Harry to what was to befall, murdering his godfather, and then afterwards the manner in which he'd spoken to Dumbledore, throwing all of those silver instruments around his room to shatter. Finally, all of it ended.

He stood there, staring at the window, trying fervently to keep his eyes away from Snape. They watered a bit. However, he wanted to ignore this, and yet he couldn't . . . angrily he swiped at his face, turning in the other direction. Not a sound was heard. He could practically hear the silence. His breathing grew rapid. He felt defeated, as though nothing in this world could ever compensate for all of his wrongs. Guilt wavered, like trembling fingers on a bow string, then fell apart painfully, tearing him to pieces. The music played . . . and then he stopped it, shaking with the force of all of his emotions.

"Potter, take off the necklace," he heard Snape repeat, from a distance. He could no longer listen though, for all of his emotional energy had been sapped. He felt terribly tired. All he did therefore, was shake his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I can't." He placed both of his hands flat against the window pane, wishing with all of his might that he could in some way, replace that cold, letting it run through his fingers, numbing his body and all of the working cells that forced him to feel this.

"Potter," Snape growled, his voice low.

"It isn't the necklace," he whispered. How could he make him understand what it really was . . . he wanted to scream at Snape, he wanted to give vent to everything that was tearing him to pieces, but while the silence extended itself, he suddenly forgot it all. The rage dulled into mere embers, and he leaned his head against the wall, completely exhausted. That's when he realized that his chest somehow felt lighter, and as he looked up- the man clad in black was leaning over him. His face was twisted into what scorn purely was, the exact definition, the black eyes raging like the fire that he had left behind, or which had left him, whatever it might be . . .

Harry met his gaze.

"I didn't mean to wear it so long," he said, feeling his eyes sting him, while unconsciously he swiped at them. His face turned a deep shade of blazing red. Still. Snape seemed as though he were having a hard time moving.

"You have no right to do this to yourself, Potter," he said jerkily. The ebony hair hung so low over his face that Harry thought of the Whoomping Willow, that hid so many secrets. He placed a hand over his own face. He didn't want to risk seeing anything reflected from himself upon the potions master. He had never been so humiliated, and at the same time so terribly out of reality, in his whole life. He wondered briefly whether he would ever feel normal again.

Snape slipped the locket around his own neck, still bent over in a crouch. Harry felt truly dead. Like something inside him had just vanished. Had Voldemort taken away his soul through his efforts? How was that possible? He wanted so badly to just sleep. But apparently that was not to be. To his immense astonishment, Snape leaned back against the wall beside him. His fingers held onto the locket in a death-grip.

"Don't fall asleep, Potter. You need to Occlude your mind." How could he explain that he did not have the strength anymore? He shook his head briefly.

"I'm sorry. I can't." He felt something hard against him, before realizing that it was Snape's arm. He must be dreaming . . . he looked over at him, but could see nothing save for the inevitable black hair, that always hung there, hiding his features. He therefore tentatively leaned back into the appendage that simply lay like a ledge, behind him.

"You must do it." Snape's voice, so low and resembling the web of a spider that had yet to be finished, fell and trailed away as a piece of that silk would if it had not been attached at the other end . . . "I know that you do not feel as though you have the resilience. But you must."

He leaned his head slowly back, not even caring that the groove of his neck leaned upon Snape's arm. He waited for those words to make any kind of impression on his mind that they could make. Eventually he fell asleep.

He woke up to the sounds of nothing at first in his foggy head, so he jerkily shook it twice. What penetrated, after a minute, was the shattering of an object. He started into an upright position.

"What are you doing?" All that crossed his vision were two shards of glass, one, what looked to be the remains of a vase. His wide eyes sought out his surroundings before falling upon a dank, dark silhouette in the grimy room cutting a tower of gloom in the shadows. His body visibly shook through his heavy robes. Harry's stomach chose that exact minute to rebel furiously, as though paying its own two cents to the sight. He peered at Snape closely, pulling his wand from his pocket to whisper the _'Lumos'_ spell. His marble face had turned, to Harry's astonishment, a light shade of green. He looked wonderingly at the potions master . . . Snape started coughing. The sound that reached his ears now was a terrifying hacking noise. He stumbled to his feet.

"What is- " Then he realized that the locket was glowing, as though with inner flames, and shivering upon Snape's chest. He gasped. A white, blazing light crept out of the sides, pooling around Snape as it went out. He watched as the long hands grasped frantically at the locket, and Harry wanted to help, but he didn't know if he should-

Snape began to tremble. A terrible screeching noise wept from the locket, almost as though it couldn't hide its true feelings at this point, while Harry and Severus Snape put their hands over their ears simultaneously. The object jarred, continuing to envelop the black with a vapor. Snape closed his eyes, as though that vain attempt might keep it all at bay. Speckles glistened upon his cheeks that looked strangely like tears, but Harry wasn't sure. The gnawing torture of whoever the person screaming at them might have been was worthy of any of those who had suffered the wrath of Lord Voldemort's own cruciatus. They were both unable to understand anything except for one constant howl as the locket emitted one, incessant screech, finally unleashing all of the enchantments that had been placed upon it. Harry met Snape's eyes as a roaring blast forcibly shoved him backwards, as though the locket didn't want him anywhere near the other man. The locket then shuddered, a final jerk pulling it apart, like a wrench was pulling it open, to shatter upon the ground as an egg would crack. It broke from Snape's neck, falling onto the floor with a clatter.

The white smog winding about Snape became a tangible form, its color changing to green and red. Harry crouched upon the floor several feet away from him, watching in abject horror- he thought he knew what was about to happen.

A shape began forming upon a hard-backed chair. Harry blinked slowly, dazed by the sight of bright green robes fluttering a few inches away from him on the floor. The charm upon the locket had allowed an imagery that solidly displayed every painstakingly drawn line in the wood of the brown mahogany upon which now sat elegantly, a woman whose flowing, wavy red hair dipped down, serenely, almost as though it had its own life. The three dimensional shape become a full-bodied woman, resting one hand upon the arm of the rocking chair, with her other wrapped around a bundle. Harry himself lay within the cocoon of white softly encompassing his small form. He stood, transfixed by the sight. He reached one of his hands out, almost unconsciously, to touch his mother's knee.

_"Hush little baby, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mock-ing bird. And if that mock-ing bird don't sing . . . mama's- "_

Something surreal about the scene was unsettling. His throat suddenly became very dry. He glanced involuntarily across the room at Snape. His eyes were fixated upon his mother, the light, barely discernible hint of a smile gracing his features. Harry had never seen anything so peaceful ever cross him, or anything even remotely similar, for that matter, tug at the corners of Severus Snape's mouth. He looked back at Lily. She continued to sing. The scene shifted slowly.

Now a chime was heard, in the far away distance. A beat, and Harry realized that muggle church bells had been set to ring at this current moment. He looked away from his mother holding his small form. The shadow, right where he had seen its gleaming edge pooling in a wisp near the door's frame, moved closer. When Harry turned his head, the wispy vapor grew tangible, and he had to fight against the hard lump, which stuck like a rock, in his throat. As the gloom came closer to his mother, still yet unseen, the sepulcher glow of Severus Snape's face, now the color of a thin, paper-white parchment piece, so translucent, that the veins crawled through the skin, peeked through, and death was written upon it. The potions master stood motionless. Harry could depict every single line in his face perfectly through the blanket of dark. Had he not known him as his professor, he would have thought him a ghost, so eerie was his rigid person.

Unconsciously, Harry began to shake, although he didn't realize that he had at that moment, lost complete control. Neither him nor Snape moved, since both sensed it. They could hear the flames from the fireplace crackling on the hearth, crackle and then die as the room turned cold. His mother pulled the blanket up over Harry's small, pink-cheeked image, crooning while involuntarily, her head turned. His hands fisted into tight balls at his sides. He wanted to yell at his mother to take him away, to run-

_ 'Lily, take Harry and run!'_ The shapeless mass became a solid wall wearing rippling robes of black. Harry's father stood in the doorway, with his wand drawn, pointed at Lord Voldemort. Those eerie red eyes, the nose two pieces of paper mache, with slits cut to form slim half-diamonds, flared wider, more like a dragon's, while his rage, twisted about all of them as his thin hand went into a pocket. _'Take Harry and run! I'll hold him off!' _Lily had stood, clutching Harry tightly to her breast so that his head was tucked beneath her neck, and he looked nearly attached to her he was so close. She shook her head vigorously, her green eyes petrified with a spark that nonetheless shot from them into the red ones gleaming maliciously back at her.

_ 'Not without my baby!'_ she screeched through bared teeth. _'Not Harry! Please! Take me instead! Not Harry! Not Harry!' _Lord Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry's father, and James stood, aiming at the Dark Lord as he shouted to his wife, but not for long. With one slash and a flash of arcing green light his father lay on the ground, still.

_'Nooooo!' _

_ 'Stand aside now, silly girl, stand aside.'_

_ 'No, not without my baby. Take me instead . . . ' _Lord Voldemort drew his wand for a second time, and within a moment, Lily lay on the ground, quieted. Before Voldemort attempted his third murder that night, the scene shifted once more, only this time things were becoming much more clear, and Harry knew, somehow, that they were back in his room at Odgen's, and that the locket had been vanquished, but, for some reason, he found himself unable to speak.

He didn't know how long he stood there, or how long the shattered locket lay between them, simply glinting as though it were an icicle up into space. He lowered his eyes to it. Harry crossed over to the object, picked it up, and flung it through the window, ignoring the glass as the shards fell around them, stepping over the silky looking triangles and their mesmerizing shades of long-

"Why?" He yelled out. "Why?" Almost a whispered emission from a place buried so deep, that he did not even want to know of the location. Something had torn inside him, something that he never wanted to damage, something that needed to be shredded, but which he never wanted to see manifested. Before he knew what had happened, Harry had sunk to the ground, his hands carefully hiding his face from Snape. He heard a low guttural moan from across the room the minute that he did.

Snape stood by the window, staring at the chair in which the apparition of Lily had sat directly before them, as though the eyes and hearts of those who were in the dream sequence, memory, or whatever it had been, had attached themselves to everything about the room, placing their imprint upon all of the objects. Harry turned away from the chair, disgusted. Yet he could not tear his gaze away from the way that the potions master kept staring, transfixed by the sight of the wooden-backed rocker.

"Come on," he said, his voice cracking. "Let's get out of here." When he walked forward sluggishly, feeling the weight of an enormous giant troll on his back, bearing down upon him, and put a hand over Snape's arm tentatively, he did not respond.

"Professor? Snape? Come on, let's get out of here. Come on."

Realizing that Snape was just going to stand there, Harry pulled forcefully on his arm, beginning to feel the slight surges of anger, although he did not know their origin. He pulled the potions master with him out into the hallway, where both of them sunk down on their knees, as though they had suddenly been sapped of all their strength. Harry simply did not have the energy to go any further. If Snape wanted to stay right where he was, then so be it. He couldn't do anything else.

"Potter . . . "

"Yes, Professor," he responded dully. He looked up at Snape. His closed eyes were like white shutters covering up the black. He was breathing heavily.

"Make sure that you burn that locket." The traces of a faint smile touched Harry's features.

"I will," he said. They sat there for an interminable length of time. He felt terribly heavy, so- abominably tired. His white hands lay before him, as though nothing on this Earth could force them over, could move them. He put his head against the wooden slabs behind him, nearly closing his eyes, but, like a pancake merely slumped. Snape shifted towards the other side while Harry's pancake hands that he couldn't move, somehow flatly did move downward, turning themselves of their own accord, so that the palms naturally rested at his thighs. Snape was as white as a ghost, even as warmth pooled back into the hallway. Harry shivered though, because for him, the life had been sucked out of him. The picture of his mother floating by him caused the shivers to react with even more vivacity.

"I'm sorry." His words went out of his mouth and swam into the air around them. "I didn't know what that locket did." Snape's pale eyelids barely fluttered. Blue veins showed through the covering.

"You didn't do anything," he murmured. "Nothing could be done." The silence was troublesome. Harry shoved his hands deeply inside his pockets, finally being graced once more with the gift of mobility. He thought that he should offer to- well clean or- provide something else. He didn't know what. He had no inkling as to what had actually been said between them. Harry shook his head. He felt so careworn, downtrodden and low, that, perhaps, nothing made sense anymore. Perhaps it wasn't supposed to. He didn't know what he thought. His head had been blown away like Odgen's friend that had crossed his path so many times before. What could he possibly-

Harry breathed in and out silently. He felt as though he were choking. He wanted to say something- anything about what he'd been forced to witness. At least Snape had been there as well. Sweat pooled all over his body. Sirius tactfully manipulated images- at least they had not been recreated within his bedroom. How could he rid himself of that? He just stood there, staring mutely at the door closing all of it, inside. The urge to let his emotions loose held him stiff. A rock-solid wall had made itself the stronghold between him and that room, but nothing could ever eliminate Sirius, or his parents, or their memories- the fact that those who hadn't died for him yet, might do so. His teeth chattered.

"Potter, what are you doing?" Snape muttered. He lowered his eyes from the images, even though they were imaginary.

"I don't know," he said, his voice dry. He sat back down beside the potions master. His dark marbles glared minutely at him, but beneath the lids- in his eyes was something. The lines across his face, etched out into his hairline, made Harry think of Sirius. His godfather had been a handsome man, who had over time become wasted. The war had made everyone to be an unfortunate representation of what once was. Snape had never been handsome, he wouldn't have thought, but never had he visited destruction on the potions master's face before. He bit his lip, so hard that blood dripped from it. Snape continued to stare at him. A rush of feelings, so bitter and so sweet, suddenly enveloped Harry. He lowered his head down, turning to face the wall. He heard shifting from the other end, but he couldn't catch- he couldn't stop the tears from coming. He started gasping for air. He knew that his shoulders trembled.

"I'm sor- " He shoved his head between his knees and cried, because he had never really grieved for Sirius, because he had never acknowledged before his utter terror at this circumstance, because he had never been so terribly ashamed.

"Potter . . . " said Snape. His voice sounded strained.

"It was because of me. All of them. They all died because of me." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "I know that I- shouldn't have blamed you, but- it was all my fault. I killed Sirius. My parents died for me. Now more people are going to die."

"Potter!" Snape sounded angry. "All of those people died because they cared about you, but what does any of that matter now?" That made him turn once again.

"But- how can you say that?" he spluttered. Snape's eyes might have spit fire at him in that moment. Snape bared his teeth. His lower lip trembled with the force of the action. "How can I say it?" If it was at all possible, his face went even whiter. Harry did not want to be the object of his wrath. "Because if you give up, Potter, then all of this will be for naught." Harry stared at his professor.

"I would never give up," he said. He looked at him with x-Ray vision.

"Good," he said curtly. "Because many people have placed themselves on the line for you." Harry gasped. "No! I- don't want them to- "

"You don't have a choice!" he spat, looking really and truly angry. "You don't have a choice, Potter," he said more calmly. He met Snape's gaze. In that instant, it didn't feel as though he was facing all of this alone. He looked at him for an interminably long time.

"Do you want some tea, Professor?" It was quite possibly the nicest thing he had ever said to the potions master. Snape prevaricated, and it seemed as though he were scrutinizing him carefully.

"Enough of this," he said, after a moment. "Come, Potter, there is much work to do before the Order comes back."

"They're coming back?" Harry asked, surreptitiously wiping his eyes on the front of his first, now feeling absolutely humiliated.

"One never knows," he said, abruptly. "We need to be ready. Then he extended his robed arm, and Harry took it, with surprise.

"Alright."

For the next hour, Harry sat at the table in the kitchen, stroking the fire occasionally while he waited for Snape to return. He had apparated after they'd gone downstairs, with the mandate to stay put, and less than a little reason to fill Harry up with anxiety. Therefore, when the door to the kitchen slammed, and he whirled before his line of vision in an array of black, Harry stood up quickly, nearly knocking the tea servicing set to the floor in his haste.

"I have news from the Order."


	12. A Game of Wizard's Chess, and Missing-

_**A special thank you to: hazeldragon, Zireael07, and Nicolle1. **_

_**Please remember everyone, that if you sign in as a guest, unfortunately I have no way to reply to the review.**_

_**And without further ado . . . **_

_**{Please remember that none of this belongs to me of course!}**_

_**Chapter 12 -**_

_**A Game of Wizard's Chess, and Missing Love ~**_

The sun glinted from the window, creating arcs of rippling gold. A leaf fell, spinning as it tickled the window's edge. It caught for a moment, before it slowly went down, seeking the green grass far below him. Harry Potter glanced out from the top's opening, looking at the leaf in all its glory. The color of it, brown against the bright, seemingly gay land underneath the trees, seemed somehow depressing. Harry was reminded of all of the strange, contradictory enchantments that Spinner's House, in a muggle neighborhood, had upon it. The way the snow fell outside of the windows, in the heat of summer behind the unsuspecting need to create a normal dilapidated building, made Harry want to shake his head in amusement. Yet it seemed like a strange paradox. How could that building, on a block where kids rode bicycles to the neighborhood park, be filled with flying purple bats? He shook his head, vigorously . . . how could that dark leaf rest upon the pretty grass below it?

Harry sighed. He did not want to invoke these ideas. They never helped him to overcome his barriers. A distraction might be in order. He pulled a set of wizard's chess from beneath one of the shelves underneath an old table with a set of angels, beautifully framing the wooden levels beneath the marble. He opened the top up and simply stared down at the small figures.

"Potter." Harry looked up. Severus Snape stood in the doorway to the kitchen. His lank hair hung in greasy curtains about his sallow face. His eyes narrowed to thin slits beneath his eyebrows. He had his arms crossed over his chest. "The figures do not automatically play with themselves unless by a charm," he sneered at him, the indentations in his bony cheeks making it look more like a scowl, than anything. "What is it that you are trying to accomplish?" Harry swallowed heavily.

"I wasn't trying to make them play. I just wanted to have a look at the set." Snape stared at him for a minute. His expression was indecipherable. Then he cocked one of his long bony fingers at him.

"Bring the set over here."

"Sir?" Harry asked him, confused as to what Snape meant.

"Bring it over here," Snape repeated. His raised his eyebrows. "Surely you are not hard of hearing, among all of your other faults?" Harry could not find the ire in him to respond. He brought the set, therefore, over to the small round table at which Snape rested now, within a large and very comfortable, padded green chair. The color suited him much better than the two pink ones, which distorted the image of Slytherin . . . but then, why would Harry care if that were the circumstance? Silently, he beckoned him to open the set.

"Let's see if the headmaster's Golden Boy can best his opponent," he sneered. The dark eyes challenged him. Harry glared fiercely back. His hands clutched the edge of the board. Now he was driven. Inside, he trembled. When Harry had first taken the set from its perch, he did not realize that he would be providing the potions master with a gift that could be honed against Harry's mind, although in what way, he had yet to determine.

"Fine," he said. Snape smirked very slightly. The edges of his hair barely reached the edge of his jaw line, but the two worked together. They created from his stature a figure adorned with black. White extended from the top, peeked out underneath the oily, lank swaying madness. Harry flashed him a grim smile. Snape drew his wand from the right side of his robes. He casually flicked it over the set, causing the black and white pieces to tremble. After a minute they flew across the board. While Harry observed their efforts they gathered themselves together in the center. Then they pranced towards one side or the other of the chessboard. He cast a furtive glance at Snape while the outcome of this particular spell became clear. The potions master smirked.

"You surely do not want to be black, Potter. The color is too- ah- reminiscent of those semblances in your- delicate mind which at the moment you wish to ignore," he said softly. Anger whirled about in his system, although it did not flare to its full measure. He had to admit that black was not appealing to him, and he thought it served Snape much better. So he dipped his head in a rather unobtrusive or perhaps merely half-hearted affirmation gesture. Snape's smirk became wider. He then bent over and whispered something to one of his black pawns. They wobbled a little and then, while Harry watched, straightened at a complete standstill. They moved carefully into position, seeming to glare at him the whole time in animosity. He swallowed nervously. Then he placed his pieces across the board manually. He looked up at Snape. He quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Well?" he asked, dangerously. Harry glanced down at his pieces uncertainly. He was not as good at wizard's chess at Ron, so he had a terrible feeling that this game would have a dreadful outcome. He did not know how Snape compared to his best friend in skill level, but for some reason, he didn't have many doubts about Snape's abilities as a player. Why the potions master wanted to play with him at all was a mystery, but Harry merely assumed that his opportunities for recreation were less prominent than his own, and he also knew that, besting Harry at something was one of Snape's most enjoyable leisure times of such pleasure. And perhaps- just perhaps- he despised thinking about the information he'd given him about the Order, last night, just as much as he himself did. This was admittedly, a purely welcome distraction. Harry would never give Snape the satisfaction of knowing it, but he relished the chance to do something normal for a change, even if he was forced to do it with Snape himself.

"E4 to E6," he said clearly. Snape smirked again. Harry raised his eyes up, in challenge. There was a glint in those black ones such as he had never seen . . . he bent over and whispered something once more to one of the black pieces. The pawn moved one space. Harry's head was working furiously. How could he set himself up for victory? He tried to remember everything he'd learned about the game from Ron. He knew from hard, cold experience that if he made even one wrong move, Snape would capture his king. Judging by the look in Snape's eye, his intentions adhered completely to Harry's opinion. He scratched his head. He directed his pawn away from the black one, still seeking the other end.

After a half hour, Harry's head told him that the headache he had coming on battled with an even greater struggle. Snape moved his queen across the chessboard. He knew at this point that if he didn't make an extremely clever and miraculously upending move soon then the game would be finished quickly. He studied his figures on his turn for over a minute. Snape leaned back into his armchair negligently. He gazed languidly into space, appearing bored by the entire progression. Frustrated with himself, he directed his own queen in what he hoped to be the proper direction, but he had a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach that contradicted his tauntingly loose desire.

"Five minutes later, Snape bent over the board once again, before the large shadow of dark loomed up into the straight-backed pencil that the potions master created, even though it was so haughty, and said clearly,"

"Checkmate." Harry's spirit soared with discouragement that spurred the fires of malediction within him. He was infuriated by the small smirk that crossed Snape's face as the word passed his lips. The wings of hatred flew to the pit of his stomach. If he were honest with himself, he was not really mad at Snape. He was rather, saturated with the resentment constructed by the loss that he had added onto his other counts of what he'd destroyed. He would now be forced to think of this in addition to what the Order was doing.

"Well Potter," Snape said brusquely. His arms of swathed blackness arched over the board between them, the sweeping edges brushing against the set as he lifted it, consequently spelling it back into the box from which Harry had taken it, "another loss, I suppose . . . " Harry balled his hands into fists down at his sides. He would not give him the satisfaction of an answer. "That's another one for me." At this, he lifted his head, his eyes burning in anger.

"Yeah," he found himself saying, "yeah, that's another one which I've ruined. Add that to all of my other crimes . . . " Snape snapped his fingers. The box closed, and while Harry watched, zoomed back into the shelf from which it had been discovered. "Now, now, Potter," he said coolly. "There's no need to take a tone with me. I'm quite sure there will be _other _opportunities to prove yourself." Harry stared into Snape's cold, dark eyes, and found himself hating the man with a passion. He did not really know who he was angry at. After all, he had agreed to play the game. He breathed a deep sigh. He put his hands out, in a half attempt at a feeling that he couldn't name.

"Alright, you won. Happy? I'll just go to my room and wait for- " He swallowed. Snape's eyes narrowed at him. He studied him for a moment.

"I thought I made it perfectly clear that the Order would not return for several hours. The fact that they are returning, is in itself enough. If you sulk for a week it would not bring the members who are partaking in various endeavors to fight the Dark Lord back any faster."

"I'm not- " Harry stared at the ground. He knew that Snape was correct. "I'm not sulking about it."

"Then master yourself!" he spat at him. "The Order will need your help now more than ever. You have not forgotten, I hope, the conversation we had?" Harry looked at him straight in the eye.

"No . . . no, of course I haven't." He held Harry's gaze for a second longer.

"Good," he stated curtly. "Because we will need everyone's energy now, and trying to keep everything locked up will not do you any good. If there is something which needs to be questioned, if you cannot keep your pathetic feelings under control, then be sure to express them, in other ways than demolishing your surroundings." Snape stood up.

"I'm not- I'm- I don't demolish my surroundings!" Harry yelled. He didn't know what he was feeling. After all, he himself had not been the one to- well, Snape had lost control as well as he did at the death of that locket. _Yes, but he didn't sink to the ground and cry like a baby_, whispered a voice in his ear that he could not ignore. Harry's face turned red. He looked up at the potions master, a dread pooling in his stomach with several implications attached to it, none of which he liked one bit. How could he have completely lost his bearings in front of Snape? The whole situation seemed utterly surreal.

"Look," he said slowly, standing up as well, keeping his head turned away slightly. "I'm not sure exactly what happened up there in that room. I know that you must have done- " He paused, hard for a minute. Then he rephrased his wording. "I know that whatever you did to demolish that locket must have taken a tremendous amount of skill." Harry stopped again. He didn't know exactly what he was trying to say. He felt his face burn even more hotly. He took another deep breath to steady himself. "I just wanted to say that- I appreciate whatever it is that you did." He chanced a quick glance up at the professor. He was wearing an unusual expression. It was a curious, and yet somehow heated look, although Harry had no idea what he had said that might induce any type of passion, of any category.

"I don't know why I reacted the way I did to that scene." His eyes shifted. The image swirled before his mind, and he had to fight to push it away. He shook his head. His mouth suddenly felt very dry. "I mean, it's not like I haven't heard it before," he muttered, placing, while he did so, one hand unconsciously up to his scar. "Every time I fought the dementors I heard her screaming . . . my mum, I mean." Harry looked out the small sliver before him, between the shades and the window. He could see an expanse of trees out there, bathed in all kinds of various shadows as the sun set down upon them.

"Potter." Harry turned around again. The look on Snape's face was definitely one of passion, now. There was no mistaking it. Harry wondered what he'd said to make his mouth turn into a slight frown, and those black eyes burn with a heated fire in a unique way. He found it fascinating, in a manner.

"You could not have known what was in the locket," he said, jerkily. "I admit that I- I did not know what in it was contained." He took in a deep breath. "Lily never mentioned it to me," he said slowly, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. Harry noticed that his hands were shoved deeply down into his pockets. Now Snape turned around in a swivel, and began to pace within the cluttered area. "I was not aware that any particular enchantment was needed to open its effects up in a way that became understandable by those within the vicinity of the object. Your ah- mother- " he swallowed convulsively, or at least Harry thought that he did, "did not even know, perhaps, that the object would have the ability to turn on the one whom it had been spelled to- protect. I researched the magic coordinated with its effects, which you, obviously, found sitting on my desk," he hissed out the last few words, making Harry cringe inwardly.

"I know that I shou- " Here, Snape held up a hand to stall him. He spun around rapidly. Those tunnels bored into, it seemed to Harry, his very soul.

"I projected no particular magic in order to open the locket. It seems to have released what remaining work had been done to enchant it, upon us without any extra effort on the parts of either you or myself." He was listening intently, but he was still confused.

"Then what caused it to open?" Harry asked. To his astonishment, Snape donned a look of genuine confusion. He collected himself quickly though, and as Harry stared into his impassive features, he wondered if he had imagined the expression.

"Unfortunately, at this point I do not have an answer."

"Oh." Harry had nothing to give to that. He did not want to think about the way in which his mother's locket had relished the remains of the work that she had done with her own two hands in order to ensure Snape's safety. He felt his body become cold with chill. The way in which it had expressed himself reminded him of Voldemort's special brand of making his subjects, those who walked underneath his power unsuspecting, fall to unmanageable and horrific methods of torture- unimaginable methods. The locket might have relished its effects too. Lily would never have known of it. Harry hesitated for a moment.

"Sir?" he asked, finally. Snape's back was to him. Harry forced himself to ask the question what was in his mind, though. He had to hear the answer from Snape himself. "Did you really love my mother?" The black shoulders stiffened slightly.

"Do you really need me to answer that?" His body was as rigid as a board. Harry had his answer.

"Is that why you've always hated me? Because you thought that I always stood where your son should have been?" he asked in a quiet tone, echoing Snape's own words. Snape did not answer him. Harry sighed, thinking that he had gone too far in his query. However, he chose to look at him. His face could have cut fire. The jaw was stuck into place as though a boulder had taken its position. Snape's definition, and his pallid description over those hard, and mesmerizingly, yet powerful skeletal features, could have been made out of stone themselves. Harry took a step back, involuntarily. When he whispered his answer, his eyelids flickered however.

"She was the only person that ever meant anything to me. Lily was the only true friend I ever really had." Harry suddenly felt unfathomable pull towards the professor. Forcing down his feelings of foreboding, he walked right up to the potions master and put an arm upon his shoulder. Snape jerked slightly, but did not move. He didn't seem to be really seeing him.

"She would have been proud of you." Snape turned. The weak rays of light casting their graceful yet dusty glow into the area barely touched him. Most of his face was bathed in darkness. "You are a great man," Harry said, clearly. With that, he walked towards the door, leaving Snape with his thoughts.

Harry went back to his dark room, but found it to be depressing. How could he stay here? He closed his eyes, for a brief moment, and saw in the darkness all of those precious memories that had been buried in him for so long. He closed them tighter, squeezing the world away like a fine silk. He heard the soft call of birds outside his bedroom window. He allowed his hand to run across its ledge. No. He would not remember. With a start, he opened his vision. He realized with a jolt of terror what was happening.

"No," he whispered hoarsely. He could not allow Sirius to enter his mind. He knew what the consequences would be of this . . . Voldemort would come to murder all of them, and- he needed to stop. He allowed the images to fall into nothing. He had to occlude. Harry clenched his fists tightly, shaking with all of his energies. He remembered what had been said to him last night. He had tried so hard to forget it, but the pain in his thudding heart gnawed its way forcefully around and throughout the ventricles, seeping towards his exterior, creeping across his consciousness. He was numb with it, but it was within his system. Harry swung the door open, and ran back downstairs. He flew to the edge of the staircase, and then, for some reason, he stopped. He told himself that the Order was safe, that Voldemort had not entered his mind. Everything was deadly silent. He could see his breath as it drew out from his throat like a wine, rising up in the cold house like a dementor . . . surely it wasn't that cold, in here? The dementor was not coming, closer and ever closer . . . Harry's hand went down into his pocket, but he could not find his wand. He screamed, and the shrill sound leapt from him as a puppet that sprang to life, running throughout the dark corridors. Then everything went dead.

Something was burning. His throat felt as though it were on fire. Harry grasped it with his two hands, struggling to rid his tongue and larynx from the poison. He thought that he was dying. Why would someone try to murder him? The dementor had already given its kiss. He was beyond dead. He opened his eyes.

"Drink this, Potter. It is merely a calming drought. You obviously need it," said a sneering voice.

"No," he gasped, struggling against the trembling waves which shook him. The arm coming towards him was black, like a dementor's.

"Drink it, Potter!" he snapped. Two black obsidian eyes bored into his brain. He reached out and grabbed the vial. The liquid congealed at the back of his mouth like a cotton wad. Snape held up a hand.

"Give it a moment," he said in a sour tone of a dripping potion, itself. Although Harry's eyes burned, the liquid scraping the edges of his mouth as a fire that had not quite reached its full potential, he kept the substance sloshing between his teeth, for a moment. He couldn't stop himself from making a face as the gooey burn potion dove between the crevices of his mouth, inflating his cheeks. When he'd reduced the flavor to that of water left too long in the sun, Snape signaled with a crook of his yellow fingernail. His throat opened up as would a gaping hole seeking sunlight, seeking relief. This potion did not taste like such, for if it was water left in the sun at this point, the water had gleaned a potent mud, somehow.

"Disgusting!" he spat, when the potion had gone completely down, shaking his whole body, as though the physical effort would get rid of the tremendous revolting hag of a drink. "What kind of calming drought was that?"

"You needed it, Potter," Snape snarled, apparently choosing to ignore his question. Harry looked up at him. Snape was correct, obviously. His eyes watered with the aftereffects of the potion. He leaned back against the headrest, and crossed his arms.

"Sorry," he muttered. The silence which stretched between them was unsettling. It seemed as though Snape were contemplating, but for some reason, Harry could not be sure that this had merit. His cheeks were turned down into a repulsed, sour flattening of his character in a remarkable manifestation of his complete nature, all in one piece. Harry suddenly likened the potion master's expression to all that he had missed during the game of chess they'd played. It was so . . . uniform. And Harry had, without question, many missing pieces in his person.

"Sir?" he asked.

"What is it, Potter?" He sucked in a breath.

"Am I going insane?" For some reason, he knew that Snape would provide him with an honest answer to this question. Snape leaned over him. The rippling sleeve of his robe caught upon something. He heard a muffled jerking noise. Then the pair of black piercing orbs met his.

"No, Potter. I can absolutely assure you, that you are not going to lose your sanity." Harry leaned back further into the headrest and closed his eyes.

"Thanks," he murmured. His eyelids flashed open again. "When will the Order be back?"

"We are not going to discuss their whereabouts at the present time. You are not so thick as to have forgotten our discussion?" He raised his eyebrows.

"No," said Harry, "of course not. I've been trying not to think about it at all." He averted his eyes. His mulish tone however, gave away his emotion, as it bubbled over, and he schooled his face into an impassive semblance regardless. Snape's eyes narrowed. Once again, Harry had been unsuccessful in trying to hide away his soul beneath the scattered pieces that cut a face of one with guilt and one with fear but- never the semblance that an entire person would emanate. He was the cause of all of this, and if Voldemort somehow discovered Snape's loyalties, this terrible trembling plan of Dumbledore's would also come crashing down, and it would all be because of him, Harry. Last night Snape had told him that the Order had in fact found an object that could be considered red magic itself, which several members would have studied joyfully, save for the fact that the headmaster had wanted to gather more evidence. Several samples . . . otherwise, the magic could go awry . . . and his friends would probably all adorn lockets, similar to those which he and Snape had been forced to wear. All of this crossed as a bleak shadow, but Harry still kept it within his mind. Snape brought a chipped white cup to his mouth layered at the top with steam.

Harry missed more than a mind that was fully intact. He missed the love of his friends, just as the potions master perhaps missed . . . just as he missed, more pieces than those which were part of a set of chess. He ignored Snape's penetrating glare and gazed out of the window. He could watch the steam rise out of that white cup, forever- if only he didn't have to know what it really was. If only he didn't have to know what these pieces to his life were called.


	13. A Speck of Nothing

_**A special thank you to hazeldragon and Zireael07-**_

_**And a big thanks to everyone that is keeping up with this offbeat story, which I nevertheless find to be extremely self-fulfilling and heartfelt. I hope that you will keep reading along!**_

_**On to the chapter . . . **_

_**{Disclaimer: Please remember that none of this is mine}**_

**Chapter 13- **

_**A Speck of Nothing ~**_

No one on this Earth could save the sparkling layers of dust from their place. The shelves were dirty, and they were old, and downtrodden by so many different inconveniences, that Harry himself couldn't help but to feel sorry for the owner of those miserable heavy tombs- Odgen himself must have had a lot if history to have placed so many upon his bookshelves. Now the shelves were old, covered with the sparkling layers that made one sneeze when they were around them. Harry simply hung his head down low, seeking out the floor beneath his own melancholy air, which swirled throughout the atmosphere like all of those settled dust particles . . . how could he have ever thought about the year or time in which he lived, the dark and the evil forces of the entire wizarding specimen, feel that he was an active part in the cause, when the books sat there like that . . . when the dust upon them glittered so.

Harry was old and had a large history. It wasn't just about the man who owned the dust layers. After all, he too had somehow removed himself from time and space entirely, because no one could care about someone that was dusty and forgotten . . . an old man. Surely that's what he was . . . an old wizard who needed no part, no gleaming eyes that he could look into of reddened fire . . . and no black obsidian dragon-eyes. Maddened eyes, everywhere around him. How could he be a part of it? Surely, no one, not those eyes which belonged to Voldemort, would possibly welcome someone as old and dusty as he was?

He reached a hand out into the air.

"Snape," he said hoarsely. Black loomed out at him from the folds of all of those notions. He allowed his hand to fall. Harry could not determine exactly what had opened up his mind to all of those aspects in the small room . . . but suddenly he'd become a part of the mere dust particles. He needed to see the black before him once more. He needed to be sure that he hadn't really dwindled away, and that he really and truly was here, as a segment of this. He couldn't see through the darkness. He heard the stomping of heels. They were boots moving harshly against the floor, pumping into the shadowed floors that he could not depict. Creakings and tremblings glazed against his tired mind, pulling together into a large, pit at the center.

"Snape!" he cried, louder, though the cold flat tone was ruinous. It rang out blatantly through the atmosphere, the empty cavern of dusty shelves, while he became a particle floating upon the high arm of a green, glistening chair somewhere in Odgen's space, mocking him . . . in a room that he did not recognize. He was no longer here. He had switched over to a heinous piece of nothing and was not a part of this room.

"Snape!" he yelled out, once again, although he knew it was all, for naught. Something slapped him. The voluptuous black folds appeared through the sliver in his imagination. Another crude, cutting whip across his cheekbone and slices of redness . . . a tingling sensation that brought his eyes to a lurid open stretch of green emblems from his mother- meeting eyes of black. He sighed.

"Potter, stop this at once!" The arm flared to life before him, pointing a wand toward the space between his eyes. Harry's eyes crossed at the deadly point.

"If you do not stop screaming at me, I will hex you into the next life!" His tone was venomous. Harry began to relax by degrees.

"I thought I had already been there," he said slowly, trying to recapture his complete air of sanity. Snape wrapped his robes about himself in a tight twist.

"Potter!" Harry stared at him. Snape's eyes narrowed. The eyes glistened. But, as Harry lifted his head and meekly looked around himself, he did not find a looming green chair swallowing him up as a dust particle . . . he lay flat, upon a bed in a room that was underneath the potion master's fervent, heated gaze of onyx.

"I'm alive," he said, dumbly.

"Of course you're alive, Potter. Would you care to explain exactly- how it came to you, that you were not alive?" Harry's face turned a deep shade of puce.

"I had a dream," he stated resignedly . . . the tone was rather odd for one who had moments ago been hysterical. Harry didn't want to say- he didn't want to say anything about the dream, so he should probably simply answer Snape's questions, and leave the conversation where it lay.

"Potter, it makes no difference to me whether you dream, but when you are being penetrated by the Dark Lord's mind it creates some ah-difficulty," he sneered, emphasizing the last word with a silken tongue, like a black snake would. Harry however, refused to respond. He wished the Order would return.

"You have been having visions about Black, correct?" he sneered, and in that moment, Harry felt that throwing a dozen punches at Snape would not possibly be enough. He wanted to curse him with Ginny's best bat bogey hex, but of course he couldn't perform that particular magic as well as she. Snape merely stared at him with an inscrutable expression, although some malice stirred beneath those fathomless black orbs that seemed fairly dangerous, to him. Harry's gaze shifted toward the side.

"Yes," he said, his tone completely devoid of expression.

"Ahhh," said Snape softly. "And you think it wise for these dreams to continue then? Have you any idea Potter, how this dream sequence which you hold close to your petty little, _insecure_ heart, will assist us right into the Dark Lord's lair?" Harry looked into his face. An anger twisted Snape's face into a quite ugly demonstration of an indecipherable something, one that frightened him. Fear clenched his heart like a vice. He knew, in that instant, that Snape understood more about the entire situation than he, Harry, had ever given him credit for.

"You spend all your time hanging on the arm of Lord Voldemort," Harry whispered. To his utter astonishment, Snape said nothing to this. "You know more even than Albus Dumbledore does about how his mind works," Harry stated, his voice rising shrilly. Snape steeped his fingers together, his long hair falling around his face as an enchanted veil might if he had actually spelled his own oily, greasy lank dips. His hands were tightly balled together at his sides. In a surprising response, he merely stared into the dank distance, into the corner of Harry's room. He did nothing save to watch the potions master, but had the shattering grace to look away after a few moments. Perhaps he simply had nothing to say to this. Everyone thought he was crazy. There was no legitimate reason that Snape wouldn't think so as well. Hatred, after all was very different from absurdity though. Why he thought that such would work in his favor he didn't know. Foolish. The entire wizarding world had been placed as an anchor of heavy steel on someone who garnered strange looks wherever he went, upon the thin shoulders of one who could not even express admiration, or voice a simple request. He rubbed his eyes wearily.

"You are, in some sense, correct Potter," Snape said finally, looking at Harry oddly. An almost curious expression had rippled across his features. "However, I do not have information concerning the Dark Lord's immediate plans that are focused upon yourself." Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it, uncertainly.

"I didn't mean to imply that you spent your time with You-Know-Who willingly," he said. To his disgust, his voice faltered slightly. Snape's lips curled at the corners.

"Unfortunately, you would be correct once more." Harry met his gaze, slowly.

"You mean that- are you saying that working with Voldemort would be fortunate?" Something flickered in Snape's eyes.

"Not fortunate," he hissed curtly, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face. "Merely- ah, fortunate in that you would be cheated out of the ability to think that you know everything about the Dark Lord, for, Potter- I assure you that- nothing in the wizarding world rests upon your shoulders. Everything which has been done has revolved around a boy that has little skill, mediocre grades and a penchant- apparently- for luck," he sneered. Harry swallowed with revulsion.

"I know!" he spat out finally. His voice shook with fury, that followed a train of some type of animalistic betrayal. At who, exactly, he did not know, for there was no reason for which he should feel betrayed. "I just said that you knew more about Voldemort than anyone-"

"Don't say his name!" Snape spat, jerkily.

"Why not? Look," he said, trying to force himself into a relative state of calm, as his breathing threatened to overwhelm him alone, and he struggled to maintain basic body functions in a normal manner, at least from the exterior. His blood roiled, and his gut felt as though someone had punched it, so harshly and with such malice that he had been intended to lie with the dead in the current time. And yet, he was still living, walking around. Snape had stood up, and crossed the room in a flash of black. His clenched hands were pushed down deeply into the pockets of his thick robes.

"I didn't mean that you were wrong," he said finally, his voice thick, and strained. He wanted to burrow his face within his arms. He wanted to do so many things, but he was incapacitated in some way, he was broken.

"What is it that you meant, Potter?" Snape asked him in a low tone.

"I meant that I don't want to stay here and be a danger to everyone. I shouldn't have been targeted for this cause. I have no special skills or any type of outstanding magical abilities. You and Professor Dumbledore should be the ones taking the lead in this- whatever you want to call it. I can't fight against Voldemort. I can't even occlude my mind so that he doesn't have the ability to penetrate me!" he cried, his body trembling in reaction to his words, as though it strained to make itself heard as well. His very limbs concurred with this verbalization. "I don't know how to legilimize, or- or rally people to fight for a cause. I- can barely even transfigure Professor McGonagall's cup into a rat without some hair remaining. I- " But Snape held up a hand at this point.

"That's enough, Potter."

"But don't you see!" he cried vigorously, desperation almost creeping into his tone. He had thought that Snape, who knew his weaknesses, would understand on some level. He didn't know why exactly, but he trusted that the potions master would be in agreement with his perspective. Harry could hardly believe that Snape was not alighted with a sense of victory, that his face was not brightened with an enormous smile at the admission of all of his faults. What had happened?

"I'm endangering everyone in the Order! I already killed Sirius, and now I'm going to get you killed too! And, you know yourself that you are way more important to this cause than I could ever be, Professor."

"Potter!" Snape snapped. Harry was surprised to note that he sounded a bit angry. He couldn't imagine why Snape wasn't adamantly confirming everything that Harry was saying.

"What's- what's making you work against me on this?" he asked suspiciously. "I thought that you would agree with me. Has Professor Dumbledore- "

"Potter! I said that's enough!" He growled the words in a low tone, and Harry immediately fell silent. There was a glint in Snape's eye that he didn't like. Snape said nothing for a moment. Harry balled his hands into fists, mirroring the other man's action, not even bothering to hide how he felt. Why should he? Snape began walking around the room at a slow pace, and Harry's eyes trailed him, suspiciously. He stopped before the window, silhouetted by the light creeping through the sides.

"Are you under the impression, Potter, that you were chosen for this because of a special purpose of some kind?" Snape sneered. Harry opened his mouth angrily to respond, but Snape was quicker. "Does this make you feel- special? Important?"

"Of course not, sir," he bit out.

"Good," Snape snarled viciously. Harry reared back slightly, for the venom in which the word had been said made him wonder whether or not Snape was contemplating a curse that he could throw at him beneath his cool exterior. His manipulative streak was the reason, after all, that Professor Dumbledore trusted him to spy for Voldemort. Snape was dangerous, and Harry knew that he had to watch his step around him. "Because you are not, however it may seem to your arrogant brain, expected to defeat the Dark Lord because you have any ability that no one else possesses. For a wizard that cannot even grasp the basics of Occlumency, you have garnered an extraordinary amount of attention, although you have no extraordinary abilities."

"That's what I was trying- "

"Silence!" Snape spat again. He moved closer to the bed. Harry could see beads of sweat plastered beneath his dark hair. "You were chosen for this because of luck and pure chance, Potter!" he spat savagely. He paused. His mouth twisted as though he had wrapped his tongue around something that was sickeningly sour, or perhaps around a poison that it was forced to absorb. "You," he said, his black eyes boring into him, "are a pathetic excuse for this cause . . . and yet," he said, cocking his head slightly, examining Harry as though he were an exotic bug, "you were nonetheless the victim of a dark lord's curse who was inundated with a desire that no one else possessed . . . the need to rule wizarding society. And you have been, needless to say, raised by the headmaster with the knowledge, provided to you little by little over the years, to defeat this wizard. Do not underestimate the sacrifices made on your behalf, Potter." Snape looked very angry now. Harry gulped around a particularly large lump in his throat, though what it was doing there he didn't know. He felt a stinging behind his eyelids.

"I would never- "

"Perhaps not, Potter," Snape said, cutting him off again abruptly, waving a hand his way, "but you nevertheless undermine what everyone else has done when you forget who you are, and what you have been prepped up to do," he said negligently, gazing at nothing in particular. Snape made it sound as though fighting Voldemort was similar to preparing for a test. In Hermione's words . . . _'you know Harry, the exam is only two weeks away and I've spent HOURS helping you prepare . . . you should be ashamed of yourself for not knowing more than the elementary basics of how to levitate an animal.' _He grinned wryly to himself. Then he glanced back at Snape. The lump in his throat seemed to grow for some reason. Harry didn't understand his reaction. He didn't know anything about himself anymore . . .

"But- what if he breaks through my head?" he said eventually. Snape stared for an interminably long time at his spindly fingers. They were working to create a temple that kept sagging. It reminded him of rain slashing against one of Hogwart's turrets. Or muggle Christmas lights, that changed their formation every now and then.

"I am working on a potion," Snape said in a low tone. Harry looked up at his face with a start. It seemed as though he was contemplating his words very carefully. His eyes were still resting on a foreign, imaginary object, unfocused. "The Dark Lord has instructed that I create a venom which immediately recognizes betrayal among his followers." He paused. "This potion- " he continued, his brows furrowed with consternation, "has qualities which the Dark Lord is presently unaware of. It may be possible for me to- trick, the Dark Lord into believing that I am loyal to him, against all of his memories, or anything that spying on me may give away." Harry opened his mouth in an 'O,' movement. He tried to take in the implications of what Snape was telling him.

"But how will you counteract what he sees," he said eventually, "if he is able to see you and I- you know . . . "

"It is uncertain at this point!" Snape snarled, his eyes snapping furiously upon him. "We can merely hope that the effects will be to everyone's- ah- satisfaction." His lips turned upward in a battle that amused Harry, because he could detect a sardonic measure in Snape's tone that created a picture in his head of how Voldemort might respond to the statement. He grinned, looking off toward the left.

"Yes, Potter," Snape said smoothly, catching his amusement. "The Dark Lord will be pleased by the results." Harry could not help it. He chuckled into his sleeve, hiding his face from Snape. When he looked back up however, Snape did not give any sign that he had seen this. His face was schooled into a carefully neutral semblance. Yet, Harry could have sworn that he saw the corner of his lip twitch, just a bit. He stalked towards the door.

"I suggest that you come downstairs to retrieve a nutrient potion," he said smoothly. "Before we begin Occlumency lessons you will need to have the energy to make the proper attempts."

"Yes, sir," he answered. Harry was not looking forward to Occlumency lessons with Snape, but he knew that the sooner he was able to acquire the basic skill the more easily he would be able to take a proactive part in helping the Order . . . that is, if he was able to acquire it. Snape swept downstairs, without throwing a backward glance at Harry.

He quietly turned the wand in his hand over, which had somehow sneaked into his clenched fist. Of course, Harry knew that the weapon could not guard him against Voldemort. He didn't fully understand his subconscious mind. It seemed to be driving him toward actions that he didn't want to become a party to. Perhaps he should ask Snape to give him lessons on how to best control his own, interior thoughts. Thoughts he didn't even know he was having, and emotions that crept upon him that had notably, nothing to do with Voldemort he assumed were more dangerous in some instances than being consciously controlled. Snape was probably correct, he mused. Although he had been targeted to partake in a war that had somehow called his hand as the saving victor of this manipulative game, he himself was not extraordinary. Perhaps however, Snape was the only one who realized that. Feeling a little inexplicably sad, he got out of the bed. When Harry realized that he was still wearing his jeans and t-shirt rather than pajamas, he followed the potions master downstairs, keeping his hands far away from his wand as he made his way down.

When he entered the living room, he kept his face neutrally blank. He figured that if he could stun his thoughts in a manner similar to a piece of parchment, that had not been used, or something close to the way Snape looked whenever he was aware that Harry was trying to uncover information by watching him closely, that he could better control his mind and his turbulent emotions.

"Here, Potter," Snape said brusquely. Harry felt something cold being shoved into his hand. He realized that the nutrient potion had been put into it. Without a thought, he downed the glass. He set it to his right, and then stood slowly, straight-backed. He stared Snape straight in the eye. He felt his fingers moving almost of their own accord, reaching toward his pocket. He moved to the ready. He pointed his wand directly at Snape. Snape smiled, a deliberate, enigmatic smile that conveyed boredom, disenchantment- almost.

_"One,"_ he whispered. Harry's mind remained blank. _"Two, three . . . legilimens!" _Harry was immediately sucked into a world which was not his, that Snape had conjured out of his past. He was standing next to several headstones. A moment later, he realized that he was in a graveyard.

"_Avada Kedavra!" a voice shouted. Harry threw himself down toward the base of a tree trunk as a body slammed to the ground somewhere to his left. Although he vision was blurry, the feelings of the memory poignantly presented themselves much more quickly than the scene did. Cedric Diggory fell in an unmoving heap. His lifeless body faced upward, and all Harry could see were a pair of eyes, no longer seeing him . . . _

"Nooooo!" he screamed. He thought he was screaming, but, within the space of another few seconds, which were indeterminate in measure, another voice layered his own, even though the word remained the same anguished, death expression, for it did represent the grief of another life being shred. Harry was now looking into the face of a woman whose eyes were the same color of his own. Her long, red hair billowed about her anguished, pearlescent beauty as she fell in a graceless arc before a baby who lay, crying, in a crib . . .

The curse at some point lifted. Harry didn't know when exactly Snape had left his head, but he felt the trembling of his body, which alerted him to the way that a leaf must shudder when it fell off a tree- he himself was so, seemingly waif-like at the current moment, that he was sure at any moment he would be blown away . . .

He looked across the room at Snape, and saw that the potions master was breathing heavily. Sweat plastered his brow, and dripped down his temples. His eyes were shaded by heavy lids. For a long time, Harry tried to control his breathing, while waiting for Snape to speak. Eventually, he straightened, his muscles straining as he moved into a ram-rod stance, as though every particle of his body was putting forth unnecessary effort into being as hard as a board.

"Again, Potter," he snarled through gritted teeth. Harry stared impassively back into Snape's face, not really feeling, not really thinking anything . . . his body was flushed with energy, but he remained removed from the trembling, and the pain that he knew he should be feeling. Snape didn't give him time to prepare himself. Just as Harry was attempting to re-channel his energy, he cried,

_"Legilimens!" _

This time Harry was running towards an object, which he knew was just ahead of him down the dark corridor. A glass ball the size of Professor Trelawney's orbs she used for divination practices was looming out at him, seeming to call him away from all of its counterparts, sitting tantalizingly upon a top shelf, all alone. Harry knew that he had to reach it. Before time could outwit him therefore, he reached as far as his framework would allow, straining his body, while he ignored the jumbled yells of those who were making a ruckus around him . . . _No, no._ His brain suddenly admonished him with a voice of its own, and Harry had no choice but to listen to it._ Not Sirius again. _With a tremendous effort, he broke free of the image. His head turned away, and he sought out anything else, suddenly becoming plunged into darkness . . .

He was watching a small boy in the corner of a dingy room, flooded with light-bulbs that hung precariously from holes that had damaged a blue ceiling, which sparkled dully. A special kind of paint had been used it seemed, as the walls were manually painted. Harry wondered vaguely whether muggles had lived here in the past. Of course, that was not possible. As he looked around, he suddenly realized that this wasn't his memory . . . his eyes roved downward from the offensive light damages to the boy who, it seemed to him, was cowering from something which he could not see. A minute later however, he realized that the other room must be occupied. He could hear shouts that began to make themselves heard above the silence in the room. He stared down at the little boy curiously. He had black hair- Snape! This was his memory, of course.

The door to the dingy room banged open, and a woman with raven-black hair entered, followed closely by a tall man with a long, hooked nose. He was raising one of his fists in the air as he trailed so closely behind her that Harry thought he could have easily been attached by a wizarding spell, if Snape had a mind for it. When he looked down at the former potions master, who had raised his head just above his arms, in order to view the event that was unfolding, he realized that the idea was absolutely absurd, since Snape couldn't have been more than five years old in this scene, anyway.

_"I told you that freaks like him should not be in that place! There is no place for him to go! This is all your fault. Had he been born a normal person, we would not have to keep him locked up. What do you expect me to do with him? Can you imagine what everyone at work will say when they find out that he's- that he's- " The man stopped here, as though his tongue had caught over what he was about to say. _

_"Don't be absurd," the woman huffed. "You know that they will accept him there, as they would anyone. No one will ever know that he's a wizard." The man's eyes bulged at this admission. He was backing her up against the wall. Uncle Vernon might have liked to sit down and have a chat with this one. The thought passed him quickly. He glanced down at Snape just as a rough slam into the faded blue background reverberated through the area. Snape had burrowed his head into his arms once more, his shoulders shaking. _

_"Magic was created for imbecilic fools!" Just after the man yelled this, the world started to dim._

In a flash, the world became bright once again, but now he was no longer staring at a child Snape that was cowering from his father's wrath. Harry was looking into the face of his dour potions professor, who was smiling at him in the most malicious manner.

"Acceptable," he hissed. Harry was at a loss for words. His brain veered into overdrive. He didn't know how he had managed to do what Snape had been telling him to do all last year . . . for some strange reason, this attempt had taken very little effort. He didn't know what it was, but something about that fact bothered him. It was as though he were missing something . . . before he could determine it however, the thought was gone. In fact, all of his thoughts were gone. He felt nothing. It was a strange idea to think that he was even breathing. Snape's eyes flashed with a gleam that Harry had never seen.

"Let's see how well you have mastered the art, Potter." He extended his am very slightly, and readied his wand. "For some, as yet indeterminable premise, it seems that you have finally managed to accomplish what I told you to do during every Occlumency session we had last year. Now I will test you as though you were facing the Dark Lord."

As Harry gazed into Snape's implacable face, he felt for once, absolutely blissful. He was glad to become a speck of nothing flying around though the air . . . he was just there. Aiding the Order by being a part of the war, even if he had to completely remove himself from it. But then, perhaps in this way, he would be much more successful. Being a speck of nothingness was grand. He stared coolly into the face of Snape's wand, feeling nothing, and all the while . . . an overwhelming surge of power slowly began to his body, creeping up from some unknown place. He had never experienced this before. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, surely had an important purpose. He was about to face it.

_**Review and comments are welcomed and encouraged! Come on- let's get involved. Where would you like this story to take you? I'm curious to know . . . **_

_**Press that little teasing button! You know you want to! =)**_


	14. Simply Time

_***** A special thank you to: Zireael07, hazeldragon, and forTheLoveOfHades for their reviews on chapter 13. **_

_**A/N: This chapter is a bit of a scene setter. More details will be revealed in the next one. Thank you always for your support.**_

_**SM ~**_

_**Chapter 14 -**_

_**Simply Time ~**_

Harry stood against the wall, finally leaning his head into the smooth orange mystical color. Why did the man create it so that the house created a colorful rainbow arc semblance? He was completely smashed by a poignant array that tickled his senses every so often. When he placed one of his hands upon the fiery portrayal, the fire must have been transmitted to his veins themselves, because his heart rate began to speed up. The layers in Odgen's house were deathly assaulting. He would walk into a bright green chair, feel the fabric with his hands that were like ice one minute, and a heat would be transferred, as though it were an inferno rather than a material. Sometimes the colors seemed as though they were vibrating, and sometimes . . . when Harry turned to face a new splash of interior décor, the particular color would freeze him. Sometimes, he even fancied that he could smell them . . .

While he pressed his hands up against the orange, the house bore down upon him. Blue skies above his head and clouds roiling up there, made him wonder exactly how he had been subjected to these dense colors, that seemed to carry with them so much weight, and why the complicated design of this particular abode he was in, was about him. The layers of colors were on every side of him. One wall drew into the next, and the next forest touches, Odgen's appreciation for a chilly day outside- the ceiling. Harry couldn't take it.

His breathing grew harsher.

"Sir . . . " Snape's arm steadied him for some reason.

"What just happened, Potter?" Harry shook his head.

"I- don't know." He gulped. He rubbed himself. Despite the fire the wall transmitted to him, Harry felt chilly. During Occlumency, he had not been able to feel. Now the cold swept through him more strongly than he had ever felt it. He closed his eyes tightly, attempting to ward off all of the feelings and emotions that had started to well inside of him once more, returning with a rage that he couldn't fathom. The swarming current of all of this trepid part of himself, that he had shut away, must be rebelling against him for putting them aside. It was so unnatural.

"Why do I feel this way?" His words were a chilly timbre, floating throughout the air about them.

"It will pass," Snape hissed at him, turning, while he did so, away with an arc of sweeping black- his footsteps became enveloped by the silence. Harry stared across the room at him, not really seeing him nevertheless. He sucked in a deep breath. It was too much. He couldn't bear it. Snape stopped, and turned back around.

"Control yourself, Potter." His eyes were icicles that Harry could not penetrate, and the frigidity was terrible. He knew with every particle in his being that the potions master- something in the potions master's eyes had left. It had simply fled away, into the night, like an owl retreating to some dark abyss. Was this how he felt all the time? It was no wonder that he was always bitter and sour-faced. Harry couldn't imagine locking away all of his emotions every day, for the entirety of the time that he was under Voldemort's reign. It was- an uncanny truth.

"I'm sorry," he voiced. His words echoed throughout the room, like a downtrodden homeless man, pining for a better life. He wished there could be more. Harry felt an inexplicable pull towards him, and in Snape's eyes, he saw something that was difficult to decipher. Unconsciously, he grabbed his forearm in a vice and muttered,

"Do you ever stop with your incessant apologies?" He sounded angry, and bitter. Harry shook his head slowly.

"No. I suppose not."

"I pray that you make an attempt," Snape spat. With that, he had left the room. Harry sighed, leaning his forehead back against the wall's face. He waited for his turbulent emotions to settle. Harry could not stay where he was however, allowing himself to be thrust up against a spectral, bright and happy-seeming rainbow. He felt as though it were a joke, mocking with an inordinate amount of sarcasm, mocking, and taunting him to no possible end. He decided to follow Snape.

The dark robes brushed along the corridor ahead of him. Harry saw the tail of the rippling velvet as it followed its owner into a small broom closet underneath the stairway. While Snape closed the door with a thud, Harry listened to the reverberation in the quiet house. He decided that he would watch the potions master for awhile, just to keep himself from thinking too heavily upon things. Unless he occupied himself in a way that would maintain a close management of his emotions, the aftermath of his success at Occlumency might break the small thread that he had on his mind altogether. Perhaps that was a bit overdramatic. But Harry did not trust himself to not do something rash or to act out in a way that was irrational, or an even dangerous manner- and he did not want to be alone for a long period of time. Since Voldemort knew of his weakness and currently sought to do everything in his formidable power to keep him from safety, Harry, much to his chagrin, needed Snape's protection.

Harry watched apprehensively as his guardian came out of the broom closet, holding something that appeared as though it belonged on one of his top shelves filled with the most disgusting potions experiments. The dark, slimy thing swirling around inside of the jar now clutched in his right hand was so revolting, that he thought he might empty his stomach contents. He was completely repulsed the seemingly close relative of a brain- how it had attained the color black was not a guess that he would enjoy hazarding. He slunk back into the long shadow created by the small, hidden closet and the stairwell, as Snape made again towards the kitchen. So he was brewing . . . Harry suddenly found himself immensely curious. Was this then the potion that he was going to brew, the one that would fight against the Red Magic and help them to defeat Voldemort? Silently Harry began to follow him . . .

Snape swung open the door and unwittingly left it slightly ajar. Pleased by the fact that he could not be seen, Harry found himself able to watch the proceedings relatively easily through the sliver the door created, and so, he settled down into a cross-legged position in his hideaway while Snape moved around the kitchen.

Snape began muttering to himself while he took out the ingredients that he needed. Harry could see from his eye's view that he was not completely satisfied by the store that Odgen had left to his disposal. While he let out a particularly prominent curse upon his examination, Harry, unable to stop himself, allowed a small chuckle to escape. Swiftly, Snape turned towards him, eyes narrowed directly at the space between the wall and the door. Harry hastily moved outside the range, but it was too late.

"Potter!" he thundered. The door swung open, smacking Harry square in the face. He rubbed it while he shot the potions master a heated glare.

"So . . . " he sneered. "Had enough of trying to control your emotions. Decided to spy, have we?" His tone might have been spun out of an intense dislike for apples. Harry continued to glare back, although at this point, he knew that Snape had caught him in the midst of the act. He lowered his eyes.

"No," he muttered. "Well, yes . . . " the words sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, and he couldn't help but to make an attempt at trying to be authentic. "You are brewing that potion for Voldemort," he finally said lamely. Snape's eyes widened slightly.

"Why, you are correct Potter," he silkily enunciated, even as his eyes penetrated him with a cool, priceless dagger, which he must have honed . . . throughout the entirety of a long and cruel life, one only a Death Eater lives. Harry suddenly realized, that Severus Snape was an extremely dangerous person. He was not one that should be crossed without precaution. He chose his next few words carefully.

"I know." He paused, thinking carefully for a change about what he was going to say. "I wanted to watch because, I need to learn how to control myself," he said neutrally.

He didn't say what he knew Snape would most likely already know; he was absolutely terrified of what the effects of not doing so might be. Snape's eyes narrowed once more. Harry could not help but to think that the lines spreading across his pale face, faint though they were, yet somehow harsh, as if age had caused a manifestation that no one could cure, were a part of another world. The life this particular master of the dark arts had led was barely even human, in Harry's mind, and seemed more itself like a mask that did not belong to human nature. Perhaps the lines that defined the expressionless semblance were made from an evil that over time, formed this terrible creation of nothingness. Perhaps Severus Snape's features, were a part of something that time in long-term measurements, chronic healing time, and not the evil one that had caused Snape to be who he was, could ever cure. Time in this specific instance was not his friend; only his enemy. He could not imagine locking all that emotion away for the entirety of Voldemort's reign; unwittingly, in that moment his respect for the man grew. His harshness was not a part of his nature, because he had been forced to lock his character away. It was disconnected from . . . reality.

"Potter!" he spat. Harry knew that he had unnerved Snape. But how could the reasons for his thoughts be explained? Many of them had probably crossed over his own features- he'd been staring at him for the last few moments, hadn't he? Suddenly his face turned tomato red. Quickly he turned around, but it was too late to undo what he had seen. Even now, the white face swam before his eyes, the strong-featured face, which told him stories of insanity, and of strength, the faint lines, the hard ones . . . they all told him a story about the potions master. He would never be able to view him in the same way again. He knew what the time spent in being a spy had done to him.

Slowly, Harry walked over to one of the heavily laden, yellowed countertops that Snape had layered with a slew of various potions ingredients. A silver ladle sparkled and taunted him with its bold color, for it was probably the only item in the room that was not aged and dusty. Odgen's decorations, apparently, had not been given much consideration, in this room, even though the remarkable need for exotica was always unparalleled, to his mind, in the other places of Odgen's mysterious and unique abode. For a reason unfathomable to Harry, the counters here were yellowed and neglected, the ceilings rent with webs of spiders that may have spun their prey-nets, twenty years ago perchance, so the silver ladle was a glorious and welcome distraction from the environment.

Yet even while his hands found purchase on the potion utensil, he could not maintain the illusion of something that was more than the misery of age. Time crawled slowly across Snape's face, and it scattered itself in cobwebs, chipped paint, and in Harry's body. He felt so careworn and older than he could imagine, in this life. But yet, as he gripped the silver ladle with a trembling force of sheer, raw and somehow, shattering willpower, he could not look at Snape without breaking that thread of virility. When the potions master came toward him as would a dense block of force, his own force, which kept the raw need alive, the shattering and painful grip on his emotions, suddenly diminished. The spoon fell with an ear-splitting thud- it cracked into three pieces. And at blissfully peaceful, long last, the illusion of something pretty in this dark and perilous world was gone- black orbs loomed out through the spectral, pale-white face. Harry's heart pounded against his chest. Snape's mouth stretched outward and inflated into a gaping black-holed scowl. Harry hung his head so low that the man could not see his eyes.

"I never knew," he said in a low tone. The potions master's eyes widened marginally, but he did not respond. All of the pain rushed forward. Harry's heart was bleeding again. He stared at the broken ladle. Three pieces. Maybe time, age, and every evil factor, was staring, mockingly, into Harry's regret. But, he really didn't understand why that was. He took in a harsh breath.

"I never wanted to know, I guess."

"Potter," Snape snapped. He sounded slightly apprehensive. Harry's lips twitched, as he tried to suppress a grin- but it died into a ghost. He couldn't smile, even at the ability to unnerve Snape.

"I mean that, I never understood what Occlumency required. I can hardly control my emotions. Turning them on and off must be extremely difficult." Harry swallowed. "To do it on a regular basis- well, let's just say that you are highly accomplished." Snape simply stared at him. Harry would have chuckled, if he could have mustered the action. But he couldn't. "Well, good luck on your potion," he said rather awkwardly.

He left Snape alone. He didn't think that he could stand being in there with him for another minute. Harry would need to control himself a little better, when he was in range of the potions master. Losing his sanity by merely understanding who Snape had become, through Voldemort's manipulation would not be beneficial to either of them. No matter how Harry Potter worked toward the common goal of Dumbledore's great mission, he would need to stay in this house with Professor Severus Snape, and he would need to, ultimately, grow to recognize what time could affect upon one's spirit, and, before it broke him perhaps he would need to learn how to rely upon it-

Perhaps time could also be his benefactor. Perhaps it would bring that pretty ladle back, to put it together again in this yellowed environment. Odgen's house was made of rainbow colors. Harry stared down at the floor, standing just beyond the kitchen door. It was forest green. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to breathe in deeply.

Maybe eventually the world would be sweetened- he almost did, laugh at himself- like the pines.

As Harry slowly went up the stairs, he tried not to think about the truth that Snape's face crudely belied. Whoever the potions master was, might be a mystery forever. Or, perhaps he just needed to . . .

Wait for time to stop the blood that he and Snape were weeping. Perhaps time would break the fortress of cold strength that made people inhuman . . .

Simply time.


	15. Author's Note

**Dear lovely readers,**

**Note that chapter fifteen is currently up for revision, and please continue to be the patient and generous people that you are while I am undertaking this project. As I have previously stated in some of my postings, 'Give It Time' has been written with emotive and poetic tendencies, and is motivated by a vast deal of shall we say **_**personal generation**_**. Nevertheless, the story is written for those who find pleasure in it as well, and to my most loyal readers I offer my deepest thanks; no names need to be represented, since you know who you are, of course. I however, had hoped to rectify any confusion by allowing you some insight into my thoughts on the matter, and beseech that you continue to weather the storms as I seek my purpose in this story constantly and forcefully. Therefore, I hearken to you a call for any questions, concerns, suggestions, and simply your lovely voices as I renew myself and the characters once again. **

**With that commentary, understand that this piece will never be forgotten by its author. If you look back to it again within a week or two, the update will most likely be in place. My heart is tied to yours, Snape, and Harry's with a high definition of strength, so I will be writing and honing, as you enjoy your holiday season- in the meantime many thanks and prayers for good wishes to you!**

**And a special thank you once again to **_**hazeldragon**_**, who has reviewed every single chapter of this story. For an entertaining read while you are waiting, a highly recommended one by me is her piece entitled 'A Riddled Universe,' if you are looking for some lighthearted, yet slightly dark-humored fun- Cheers!**

**Brooke ~**

_**(SM)**_


	16. Dangerous Times

_**~ * * A special thanks to hazeldragon, and Zireael07. Merry Christmas to the many! Thank you for your continual patience. Please note that none of this belongs to me, although perhaps this particular brand can be called mine. I don't know . . . let me know how it rests within the mind of the reader. And please do not hesitate to be a part in the great scheme of that which we call Harry Potter- although this is the darker side. And now, you have been warned . . . **_

_**Chapter 15-**_

_**Dangerous Times ~**_

Simply giving time was a spare shred of a sharpened cross, which had come to mean a terrible act of misery for everyone involved, heightening the pain of a great sacrifice that Harry did not really understand, could not break down into simple terms. Time was very strange. It did not stop for someone who needed it the most at a current moment in their lives, and following it turned into an entire life spent looking for a symbol which could not easily be detected. One could cry torrents of hard, nailing rain that was steadfast, for hours, and never come to the end, never reach that beautiful act, that minute, that very second which broke the glass- one could go knocking- but the door to the heart would never be opened, and the glass to the human emotion would never open. One could long to get in touch with the feelings locked deep within his heart, but . . . time would not take that person where they needed to be, in order to access them. One could make sacrifices for the greater good, giving so much of themselves that they become paralyzed with the efforts they make, so many cruel and self-deprecating acts of courage that they lose the ability, eventually, to understand who they are, and what caused them to make those sacrifices in the beginning. Time spent in this way created a cross so painful that one could not understand it, and no matter how you fought with time, it turned against the lovely, and delicately honed gift of giving to the world that caused him so much pain, and gravity now was much too heavy, for that person, so they lost their grounding in the end. They forget who they are . . .

Harry Potter slowly sipped upon a cup of hot black tea that the potions master had provided him with, before the fury of his artful black robes glided away cruelly into another area of the towering, and somehow eerily humorous house. Harry had not seen the head of the ghost in several days, but other strange appearances from guests that he was not particularly interested in had floated about him, since most of them did not have the necessary functions to walk about- he did not really want to see them if he were honest with himself. It was undoubtedly true that there were various oddities that normally may have fascinated him, but he could not find forces great enough to muster such interest; in the future, perhaps.

The door to the kitchen opened to the admittance of a tall man clad in his usual color of deep black, which set off his pallid face so starkly it was a nearly painful consideration. Harry could not bear to look at Snape, so he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to block out the nearly unmanageable pain of a soul that, in this shallowly fragile way that he did not really understand, reminded him of his godfather. Sirius Black had looked as gaunt as the man standing in front of him for such a long time, holed away in his dilapidated home at Grimmauld Place that Harry found his emotions riding upon that single thread of connection, and he forced himself to grit his teeth tightly together. Before he could stem the flow of his own voice, he heard himself saying,

"No, don't. Please . . . " His hands tightened around his steaming hot cup so brutally that he felt it shudder beneath his tenacious grip, protesting against his inexplicable grasp upon the porcelain, before he felt it falling. Just as Harry heard the deafening break of the white porcelain upon the linoleum floor, he clamped his hands over his ears, bowing his head over the table while the humiliating noise awashed his entire being. Embarrassment coursed through him, simultaneously battling with something else, which caused him to suck in his breath sharply, before he released it with a shudder . . . then he swallowed deeply, and pulled his chair back, leaving the scattered remains of his drink of warmth milling about on the floor.

"Potter!" Harry shook his head vigorously at Snape's cold command, rushing with a fury that was foreign for him towards the door looming behind the man as though hell itself had broke loose in his body, and was driving him mad.

"I'm sorry- " he muttered. He paused at the door, his entire body tense. His hands roved up to his head softly. "I honestly don't know what's happening." Distantly, through his hands, he heard the thud of hard boots on the floor as Snape's form swept towards him in his usual stalking manner. A vice-hand reached up and grabbed one of his arms with nails so long and jaggedly brittle that they dug into his skin so harshly they probably left scorch marks. The tenacious man flung his furious face into Harry's.

"Sit down and have your blasted cup of tea," the potions master hissed. But Harry only shook his head, searching for the ability to answer, yet failing humiliatingly. He could only see Sirius in the deathlike shadows crossing Snape's features, playing across them hauntingly, mockingly . . . the ghost of the man who was his godfather danced around the dark lips with his chillingly familiar smile, while Harry's hand reached out to touch it wistfully. Sirius's eyes suddenly narrowed sharply.

"Potter." Harry let his hand fall, slightly confused. His godfather typically did not speak with him in such a way. He almost sounded like the potions master.

"Potter!" the man snarled again, causing Harry to cock his head, peering through his left hand at Sirius as another aspect that he didn't recognize became prominent. His godfather typically did not drip hatred over him as though he were a bug that had somehow crawled onto the belly of his porch, as though he would like nothing better than to step on poor Harry-

"Potter!" There, yet again, his godfather was yelling in his face. The pincer-like nails digging into his skin dug more deeply into the tender flesh of his arms, shaking him now vigorously. "Occlude, Potter, now!" The forceful tone drove him to another semblance, the light of the dim room pulling him away finally from the dark place that he had traveled to, carrying him back to one that was so prominently different, it was painfully blinding.

"Aaaaaaagh!"

"Potter, stop that caterwauling and occlude the Dark Lord, before you get-both-of-us . . . killed, in the most unpleasant manner," the potions master finished with a soft hiss that sounded highly unnatural. The thread was suddenly broken.

Harry sank to his knees in a shuddering, cantankerous fall that jolted his body, while it trembled to the ground in a frigid heap. He wrapped his arms tightly about himself. The potions master was bending over him in the way that a hawk scrutinizes its pray, but Harry could not bring himself to truly care- he felt so heavy, as though his system had been frozen into a block of numbness, or a strong metal that could be electrocuted by sudden movement, and he had no control over his body. He lowered his head into his hands for a minute, trying to calm his breathing.

"He's controlling me," Harry murmured. "He's trying to break into my mind."

"Potter." Long hands spiraled through the air once more, and caught hold of his robes. "What evidence do you have for this to be the case?" The hiss was imminently promising of death, but Harry could only hear the way that Snape's tongue rolled, almost as though it were shooting a poison out that he would never see, because he was so toxic already. Lord Voldemort had made his own unique cut into his head, so now Harry would never be within the fold of the Order of the Phoenix once more- he had, with his own inadequacy, misused its purpose. He just shook his head.

"I've been manipulated several times," he spoke softly, with a hoarse edge that detailed feelings that he did not want to face, threatening his block of numbness. Arms suddenly made themselves present at his sides, as they shook him roughly, forcing Harry to become aware of Snape's grip upon him.

"Wake up!" He snapped in a cruel tone, "wake up, and stop behaving like a child who drank a nasty brand of pumpkin juice," Snape spat out nastily, causing Harry to look up in surprise at the dark scowl. Something stirred within him that he did not recognize then. He reached up and gripped the potions master's black-swathed arms, and he met his eyes evenly, watching the black ones narrow almost imperceptibly, the crawling lines upon the papery skin marking someone who had become more than he was.

"I- know that I cannot keep anyone safe. I mean I'm trying," he said quickly, while something crossed Snape's eyes that he didn't like, "but I don't have the skill to Occlude him. Maybe I just can't." Snape stared at him implacably for a moment.

"Then you should find another way to stop the Dark Lord, Potter," he said abruptly, before turning, and sweeping away from him in a frightening arc of robed blackness. Harry did not understand. He felt something heavy and rather unpleasant settle in his gut, but he couldn't be sure what it was . . .

"He's breaking into my mind." His mouth tasted like sandpaper, but it was frighteningly cold. Harry wished desperately for the heaviness of reality to leave him, so that his body would warm up once more- but he knew, with every particle of rational thought that he could muster, how chillingly fruitless that idea was. He heard thunder in the distance, making his head turn toward the blasting spurt of energy outside, just before a torrid rain began to slash against the windshield. His eyes became dulled at the sight.

"What evidence do you have for the Dark Lord's success, Potter?" Snape asked softly, his words striving through the fear that had clutched Harry's heart in a tight grasp, with a chisel. He allowed his gaze to fall from the clattering rage beyond the dank little kitchen, and back upon the potions master. He simply stared at Snape. Then he shook his head faintly.

"I don't know what he knows about us, or our situation," he told him honestly, forcing the words out of his sticky, glued-tight throat, "but I was thinking about Sirius again, until the minute that your arm caught mine and shook it." He bowed his head. It went back and forth, slowly. He was so cold. "I thought you were Sirius, actually." Snape sucked in a sharp, jarred breath. He stood back from Harry a pace or two, walking towards the window from which he had stared out of, gazing at the storm, his dark eyes slightly unfocused. The papery thin white skin was interestingly tight upon the frame of his face, and Harry couldn't help but to wonder what exactly he was thinking about. He stood there quietly for a long time, while Harry merely watched him.

"Do you think that he knows?" Harry asked finally. Snape grasped the edge of his robes from the shallow dip in his thin sides, wrapping them so tight about his torso that he reminded him of a twisted looking wraith, or even a dementor, with its twisted, and odd looking- almost . . . inhuman appearance, if one could apply such a term to it.

"I have no inkling as to what goes on in the mind of the Dark Lord, Potter," he answered in a low tone, which sounded nearly detached.

"I know," said Harry, "but I thought that, maybe you had a notion as to his plans, as in those that he relayed directly to you," he said, with a hint in his own tone that seemed nearly apologetic. Snape continued to stare, an eerie look in his eyes as the storm raged onward, and for a moment Harry was not sure that he had even heard what he said.

"The only knowledge I have been privy to lately concerns the potion which I have been ordered to make for the Dark Lord. However," he said, his voice smooth and cold, "this will impact the Dark Lord and his cause in ways that he does not expect." Harry thought that he detected some type of slight satisfaction bubbling just beneath the surface of Snape's demeanor.

"Will- what you're creating help us to gain the red magic to use against him?" Harry finally asked. Snape looked on at the torrent of rain slashing against the window, and Harry wondered vaguely what he was seeking that was so interesting. But, when Snape turned around, his brow was heavily lined and the dangerous glint in his eyes told death of a kind that the weather never could have contributed to.

"No," he hissed quietly. Harry did not understand what Snape meant to convey to him, since he found himself to be in some way connected to his concerns while they were as yet working towards the same cause. Then Snape walked up to him and grabbed the collar of his shirt in his fist. "You will not go anywhere, for your pursuits are darkly implicit of an arrogant nature that will kill all that we have ever attempted to accomplish," the last few words trailed away into a mad dream, making Harry shake his head in confusion while Snape snarled brutally into his face, his jowl aquiver with his rage.

"I don't understand," he choked out, anger beginning to snarkily replace the melancholy aftermath which the fuel of Lord Voldemort's plot to reign over his mind with dreams of his godfather's wasted life constantly replayed in front of him. The anger won out, with a disposition that was as mean and cynical as Snape's. "Why would you think that I would be going anywhere just because I want information about the potion you have been ordered to make? After all, wouldn't it be plausible for me to take part in your plan, sketchy though it may be?"

The retort was one that surfaced before Harry could do anything to stem it, but he did not care. A haunted look swam within Snape's orbs that he did not particularly trust, or like, that caused him to examine his hands down at his sides. The grip on his collar perceptively tightened against the skin of Harry's chest. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, attentively, as though each one were alive, seeking to fight the vivid war that was all around them, and the fists of his potions professor was perhaps where the demon had begun. There was a murder being promised in every particle of Snape's virulent, taut form, and Harry sucked in a deep breath.

"I- didn't- " At the minute, Snape threw Harry from him with all his might into the closed door of the kitchen.

"Don't ever question me about those details which do not concern you, Potter." His voice was so low, that Harry might have needed to strain his ears to hear the creeping baritone, save for the fact that it had somehow tumbled into his right ear, startling him. Harry's head turned, ever so slightly- and a screeching was heard above them.

Both Harry and Snape looked up to the wooden beams composing the dank kitchen ceiling, encumbered with a load of hanging cobwebs that swayed dangerously within the eerie darkness. The screech again echoed over the beams and throughout the whole house at large, strangely blatant, yet mystifying, because the owner was an owl. Harry was immediately confused by the reverberation of the brazen sound, because he knew that it was his owl, and his owl should not be as attention-seeking, for she never emitted frightened, dinning noises of such an unearthly nature unless something was terribly wrong. Before Harry knew what had happened, Snape had flung him behind his form, holding him in place with a tense, deathly grip which he struggled meekly against, his heart pounding against his throat while the suffocating black, flowing robes threatened to overwhelm him. He found himself pressed closely against the back of the potions master, unable to move.

"Do not make a sound," Snape said in a soft voice, which sounded nearly melodic. Fear had not ever made itself more prominent up until this point, and Harry found it extremely odd that he had been affected by its presence so much in the past. It was as though his past fears hadn't even existed, as the potions master gripped his arms so tight that they nearly cut off the circulation, and his breath caught somewhere up in his adam's apple- all he could hear was Snape's shallow, steady breathing. Snape turned a fraction of an inch. Harry's eyes darted up towards his face. He stared at him with a look in his eyes that Harry couldn't quite decipher, which he had never seen. Pure warning was etched throughout every line of his face, as well as danger. He nodded, to show him that he understood.

Snape released his arms very slowly, moving one hand toward his pocket, drawing out his wand- Harry's eyes darted down uncertainly, but before he could so much as lift his own hand in such a decision, Snape's decisiveness was quicker. A rapid flick, the long, hooked nose turned down in a hawk's glare, focused on its prey, and Harry was no longer able to move any particle of his being, for the potions master had disillusioned him. His black eyes bored into him cuttingly, almost curiously. A number of feelings coursed through his spirit, but Harry could not make any sense of them, and, before he could determine any sense, out of the situation and the hovering black bird that had placed him in his nest for reasons that could not be well-considered, which terrified every bone in his body, he had left.

Harry could not understand what had possessed him to comply with Snape's wishes for him to remain where he now was, since every fiber in his being now screamed for him to move. The potions master had walked out of the kitchen with the mahogany wand before him, and Harry was sure that, as he did so, he had placed another disillusionment charm over himself. This however did not stop him from forcing his eyes to stay upon the door no matter the strain they would suffer, in the exact place from which Snape had walked out, in order to seek out whoever had entered the house.

The rushing through his blood pumped a river of merciless crashing that his heart must have been woefully struggling to generate. How terribly cold was the river, and how great the force it used to crash against his bones. If only he had known how strong was the heart-

A crash above his head alerted him to the fact that the way in which his system worked as not the only thing in the world with an amount of force that had the ability to do unwarranted things. Unwarranted, because he could reach up tremulously through the sky towards the stars and the action would be unwarranted, but this action would be foolish perhaps, and reckless, and completely uncalled for, and because Harry understood. He understood. He knew what it meant to do something that was idiotic. He may not, truly understand the word 'unwarranted,' however. Listening to the screeches of his owl was unwarranted in another sense, was it not? The pounding against wood that fell down upon his ears, scraping of mean boots along the floor, all of the sounds being emitted while Harry could do nothing except stand, was not this unwarranted in completely another way?

Everything suddenly went silent. Harry did not want to attempt moving, because he was too busy focusing on the mad rushing within him that threatened to shatter everything that was holding him together. He did not understand the enigma of all which surrounded him now, or what it truly stood for, or what it truly meant. He simply waited.

Time was an enigma without question. He couldn't manipulate it, and perhaps it would never work for he, Harry. Footsteps upon the stairs descended into the living room at Odgen's house. Harry could do nothing except wait. And when time decided to be a bit kinder than it had been in the past few minutes, the door swung open. Heavy robes worked past the heavy door, because the door seemed to tremble with the effort it used at keeping this particular intruder out, but Harry knew it was fighting a losing battle- even though he thanked the door, in his mind. The robes were even blacker than Snape's, which Harry thought vaguely to be, well, a bit peculiar.

"Where is he?" the man said in a low whisper that sent chills running through his spine. The man was a bit taller than Snape, with hair that trailed down his shoulders behind his back. The grease was prominently swaying back and forth through the thin and oily strands, making Harry's mouth twitch very slightly. If Draco Malfoy had ever seen his father in such a state of disarray, then he certainly would entreat him to wash it, for the family was comprised of various witches and wizards who walked with the dignity of pureblooded martyrs, with gleaming eyes that spoke of how awful they would find it if one of their own kind had the appearance of a mere muggle-born wizard. The lanky strands did nothing for him, Harry thought with a small amount of satisfaction. A stubble upon his chin also added to this depiction of unkempt humiliation on the prideful part of the Malfoys.

Then Harry heard a rather weak and somewhat sad tweaking of this terrible yet pleasingly artful deception that he had generated, in order to keep his pathetic heart pumping. It could no longer be given a reprieve, though. His owl was squawking loudly within Malfoy's hands, struggling against the grip he had over her, glaring at him spitefully, although with confusion, it seemed to Harry, who thought that his veins would burst with the sorrowful pumping of his poor heart. As Malfoy crossed to the kitchen counter with the owl, the door opened once again, much more willingly it appeared to Harry, who was still watching the scene with an enormous amount of trepidation, to emit Snape. Relief of a kind that he could not provide a description for drummed through him at this point.

The white, gaunt face was smooth and implacable, but Snape's eyes glittered in a dangerously mystifying way. Harry glanced between him and Malfoy with an anticipation for what he hoped would happen, although he would not dare to provide a name for whatever that might be. He did not understand why it was even there. Long, yellowed nails were clasped around a wand staunchly resting at the potion master's side, as though resting there peacefully.

"I don't know what the Dark Lord has ordered you to do, Lucius," he said smoothly, embarking upon the man from the back with a heavily calculated, yet light, stride. "But rest assured that I retain- whatever knowledge you feel incumbent upon you to, ah- shall we say fathom? The pressures of your job are, after all, difficult at times to cope with." Harry knew that the complexities within that tone were implying more than most people would have discerned, and he wondered whether or not Lucius had detracted the imminent promise that the words held, or that he knew of the promise which Snape was subtly iterating. Malfoy continued to hold his owl, who was now sitting silently within his grasp, as though she had finally realized that there was nothing she could do about her predicament. He turned to face Snape.

"And yet," Snape said softly, with that strange glitter in his eye that Harry had become intimately familiar with in the past several darkly revealing weeks, "you do not seem to know or to understand the Dark Lord's wishes. It is possible, is it not, that they have not been revealed to you? Or that you have simply been mistaken?" Lucius Malfoy's face darkened. The cold, frigid blue eyes were pinning Snape with a piercing nail that was so much colder, so depressingly and sadly sharper, than anything which Harry had previously witnessed. Yet Lucius Malfoy was a solid force that was extremely dangerous because of this inability to know what he possessed, and Harry, after all, did not really know either. Snape however, did not seem affected by it.

"You are exceptionally certain of yourself," he said in an odd tone. Lucius growled. His lips were bared into a trembling scowl, which nearly dripped with the spittle that now threatened to fall from the corners of his mouth. Harry was slightly disgusted.

"Are you mocking me?" he spat. Snape watched him with his dark, fathomless eyes.

"Why, not at all Lucius," he replied. "Whatever would give you that impression? I was simply commenting on the blatant bravery of your actions." Snape crossed the room, traveling to an area at the left of Lucius, rather than stopping directly in front of him, and studied the brittle counter that was before him. "Funny," he said, after several moments, "that you would behave in a manner that is so strikingly different from the traits which you've garnered from your past acquaintances, and the history of your house. It's a bit inspiring, actually." Lucius Malfoy thrust a hand into his pocket upon this statement, drawing out his wand. During the movement, Hedwig saw her opportunity, and Harry's heart soared as she bit him on his left hand without wasting a second, causing him to reflexively move his fingers enough to admit her an entrance free. Harry was chuckling inside.

"Why- you- " The owl raced towards the door, while Malfoy glared after her, lifting his wand now towards her as he aimed for her unsuspecting tail. But the door somehow opened of its own accord, and Hedwig raced free into the darkness of the house. Lucius directed his wand now towards Snape.

"How could you keep Potter's owl with you?" He lifted his head, so that only the pale irises could be seen, so deeply did they speak their message, and how engagingly they caught the light with their paleness. His eyes were so, strikingly pale, but somehow they sought Snape out to revive a deep and oblique darkness that was almost earth-shattering.

"What are you talking of?" Snape asked him, his tone lower than Harry had ever heard it. Lucius took a step toward him.

"The owl is needed for the potion which the Dark Lord has requested of your fine abilities, Severus. Indeed I am not entirely sure why he has constantly and mercilessly placed your loyalties on a pedestal. The- ah- time is drawing close for this marked tail of everything he has waved in front of his most loyal followers, to be, shall we say- tantalizingly prominent." Snape simply continued to stare at him, his face betraying nothing. Lucius narrowed his eyes in the most charming manner.

"You have been loyal to the very last strand on your head." Now he reached out, while one of his pale fingers fingered one of Snape's greasy strands hanging limply beside the frame of his face. Snape was quiet, still. He made not the smallest movement. "But the time is coming when we shall all be privy to what has been hidden from us. And it will," he said, narrowing his eyes in a darker way, while his robes trailed after him in an arc that was somehow more death-defying than that which surrounded the same black ones Snape always wore, "portray a number of different things." He paused at the door, giving Snape one last, cold look. "The tail of your crimes will no longer tease those of us who have been forced to endure this torture. I will be sure to inform the Dark Lord of the fact that you are allowing one of his potions ingredients to roam the house freely. Now give me back my wand," he said through a mouth that told of nothing save for a gray sort of evil, the lips so thinned that Harry could have grazed that strange feature with ones of his nails.

Snape crossed the room quickly, reached into his pocket once again, and thrust his wand into his hand harshly. Lucius grinned at him in an eerie manner, and then left. The room was now filled with a silence that was harshly deafening.

Snape did not leave his position, but one of his hands reached behind him to graze the side of the wall adjoining the door with his overgrown nails, scraping it across the dilapidated work of Odgen's talents that had long since faded. A barely detectable 'clink' resounded throughout their proximity, entering into the kitchen as though it wanted to tell of its proud abilities, but Harry did not pay any attention to the door. He knew that Malfoy had no intention of returning for a follow-up conversation with Snape about how his work was coming along, simply to reassure him of the fact that he was keeping a watch over his progress while Lord Voldemort waited for his compensation in the form of a tail, that he would soon wag over the entire circle of Death Eater's, in order to put Snape's crimes up for exhibit. He glanced up at the potions master, to discover that he was in the midst of the room, and that he had drawn his wand out once more. His eyes settled coolly upon it before he leveled it in front of him, causing Harry to cringe slightly. But with a flick of it, the spell binding him in place had been lifted. His body drifted into view while he moved slowly into the room, forgetting that Snape still had his wand pointed at him momentarily. He opened his mouth to speak, but Snape held up a hand to silence him.

"We will be leaving the premises, Potter. Gather all of your belongings and meet me in this exact spot. You have fifteen minutes." Harry stared into his eyes for a minute. The potion master's expression betrayed nothing, but the cold black orbs were spiraling with something that made any words that he may have generated, die, from wherever they had been born. There was more that was going to be born today, than mere words. Harry could sense it. He simply nodded, and exited the space, leaving Snape alone in the kitchen.

It did not take Harry long to gather his possessions. He threw his meager baggage of clothing, books, and a few other sundry items given to him over the years his suitcase, before looking dubiously around for Hedwig, as the last and one of the most precious items, but because she was nowhere to be seen, and he only had five minutes left, he walked back into the kitchen with his heart crying out beneath his chest. Snape stood in the center of the kitchen still, as though he had not moved. The only indication that he had not become a statue glued to the floor of Odgen's place in the man's odd humorous fantasy designs, was the plain black suitcase beside him. Harry stopped, once he had closed the door gently. Snape looked up at him sharply.

"You are ready?" Harry opened his mouth and closed it. He nodded. Snape beckoned to him with a thin finger, and, as Harry was walking over to him, he burst own tremulously,

"I can't find Hedwig!" He met Snape's cool and implacable gaze. After a minute, his eyes narrowed upward, toward the ceiling, and Harry just looked at him, confused.

"We have no time for her now. You can send for the owl, after we have reached our destination." Harry nodded again. He tried to ignore the thundering coursing throughout his body that was screaming a silent message that he could not listen to.

"Grab my arm," Snape said in a low, rough whisper. Harry's hand latched onto the long, swaying sleeve, while he closed his eyes, waiting for whatever was to come.

"Where are we going?" He did not receive an answer, however, for as soon as his touched the sleeve, they were both lifted from the ground, and spinning away, into the black of night . . .

_**~ I promised you dark did I not? I promised that the world they live in would soon reach another revelation? Well, here they go . . . it is revised as promised . . . but perhaps you didn't know what may be festering . . . and I shall not be the one to reveal it, yet. Have a good holiday-**_

_**SM ~**_


	17. Dying Embers

**A/N: A special thank you to hazeldragon and to all those who have favorite 'Give it Time.' I know that this story tends to be relatively ambiguous, and it will continue to remain dark and poetic, with an innate sense of enigma about it . . . but then, the reasons for which I am writing are also ambiguous. Nevertheless, to its supporters goes out my gratitude. I beseech all of you to review and to tell me what you think of it, despite and due to any confusion; additionally, well, on rather a deviant, beat- today is Severus Snape's birthday. Well, at least according to the Harry Potter page on Facebook. And so, let's all cherish him . . . **

**Here we go.**

**Disclaimer: Please remember that none of what you are reading is mine.**

_**SM ~**_

* * *

**Chapter 16- **

_**Dying Embers ~**_

Something demonic flew about them in the air, but Harry could not make any kind of attempt to catch it, as the soft music of the birds twittered in the last of this sordid eye. They had apparated at this exact moment of time, which was cloaked in a burning blackness that creature filled as it must be could have been . . . meant to slash them to pieces, shadowy followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or Lord Voldemort. Being calm would be insupportable, if he gave himself up for a moment to his fatigue, which threatened to overcome him and suck him down into a cavern of bliss somewhere, away from the terrible sense of foreboding that Harry was bearing, that cleaved to the surrounding woods via strange noises. He reached out and pulled upon the swaying ominous robe of the potions master. The elbow beneath the clothing jerked roughly.

Snape turned slowly around, his thick boots creating smudges of uplifted dirt which shot about the dragon-hide furiously, even though Harry's face was drawn to the strange illumination of madness upon his own pallid face.

"What is it?" he spat at him. Harry let go of the sleeve, allowing it to flutter away with the wind. He could not iterate what was stuck in his throat, like a clump of clay that had lodged itself within him almost in a painful way.

"Sorry." Snape stepped up to him, his gleaming eyes locked onto his own, lingering there strangely while adding décor to the clearing between the expanse of endless trees. Harry shivered with chill.

"We are going to a cavern that the headmaster has designated as a temporary reside," he said softly, answering his unspoken question, as the chill became more frigid. He swept back around.

"Sir- wait. Is the entire Order there?"

"I am imagining them to be so," Snape answered in a wry tone that nevertheless was sucked away sooner than it was able to emit his usual cynical quality. Harry maneuvered himself so that he walked in conjunction with Snape, asking him, in a quiet tone,

"What about your ability to spy?" A dead silence whistled through the trees in response to his query. But after a moment, he told him, with an edge of something that could not be named properly,

"It is . . . an unfortunate act of Mr. Malfoy . . . " he breathed a deep, sibilant sigh, and Harry reflexively placed his arms over himself, "which has breached my invaluable . . . qualities." An emphasis upon the last word that he did not like to the smallest degree was- palpable.

"What about the potion?" he asked him, apprehensively. "How will it be continued?" Snape was swifter than it seemed possible to be, especially when Harry wanted to beleaguer him with questions, if it was even possible to do it. The forest had grown in its gargantuan enumerations, which times tenfold were slapping against him, each sound amplified, crawling through Harry's veins, and he caught up with Snape in a hurry.

"Um . . . " he began, slightly nervously, "I don't mean to sound as though I'm complaining or anything like that, but is this forest similar to the Forbidden Forest, at Hogwarts?" Snape did not look at him, so Harry watched the subtle shift of his thin shoulders while they predetermined the potions master's answer. An enormous boulder bathed within shadows stuck up, in an ironically annoying non sequiter to his question in front of them, blocking their passage. Snape merely veered to the right. After several minutes, he said in a lowered tone,

"I have never personally visited this particular forest before." Harry could detect a light sneer undulating within his words, "and the headmaster has a tendency to loose his prey into the most unfortunate circumstances at times." His voice was heavy, and Harry could detect a potential in it for foreboding, eerily put together patterns of undeserved malice- a malice that Snape did not perhaps even intend, malice although he received the full brunt of whatever laced that silky tone. And then they both paused at the trill of the most biting, nail-grating, crude scream that Harry had ever in his life heard. Unconsciously Harry moved in closer.

"Quiet," Snape hissed at him, although not sparing a glance at Harry. He merely nodded, pulling his arms more tightly about himself, until his torso was bent within the most crushing folded embrace, that might have detracted somewhat from the use of acceptable etiquette indeed.

The deepest darkest vibrations meandered out into the surrounding air of silence until not a sound could be easily discerned.

"You are not to make any noise," Snape growled at him. Harry nodded his head, quite vigorously . . . the blood pounding as madness would, whose measures were acts of a sick loss of anything vital, but everything that meant being filled by a poison that would scald away his interior.

"Professor- who is it?" He looked up at Snape rather frenetically, but his cold face was set, like a white marble. The furious robes of black coffee were swirling away from Harry.

"No!" He stumbled forth through the paleness of the mocking moonlight, forth his potions master frantically, feet stumbling over ricocheting brambles that shot up, as if they were strange fireworks, making him practically need to catch himself from a fall. The robes were yards ahead of him already, but upon the moment, Snape turned slowly around, in an act that appeared to be so painfully deliberate that Harry could almost feel the reflective effect touch his own spirit. The look in Snape's eyes was . . . different, somehow, as though he were very nearly contemplating something . . . something which he did not want to reveal to him, and that something frightened Harry more than anything else ever had. He shut his eyes momentarily while the potions master walked back a few paces. Then, he simply stared at him- and Harry saw one, fluid flick of the dark wand, a slash through the immeasurable undertones of this miraculous forest, before he was unable to move any part of his being. There was a strength behind those nearly always, inscrutable orbs that he had never before seen, and Harry averted his gaze.

"You- are- not- to move," he enunciated the words with extreme precision, and Harry suddenly felt terribly, impossibly thick. Snape walked away with his wand held in front of him.

* * *

Harry wished that he could have made a campfire that night, for it would have eliminated some of the cold bits that were not a part of this weather. The problem of course was, that he would not have the ability to reach out and touch any of the surrounding brambles with which to begin this process. It was highly likely, in fact, that he had no abilities, which were inside his slight frame,that may actually allow him to work at this through his utter terror, even if he had not been so, so terribly cold and- so petrified.

It was utterly impossible to declare his abilities to perhaps do anything.

The forest, as it were, was quite comfortable, for Snape had stunned him into a position that allowed him to reside beside the boulder, while the sounds had not manifested into anything that Harry would despise once they were in front of him. To be perfectly honest with himself, the light glazing the ground around his feet in a gentle dance that warmed him somewhat, was not really as welcome as such a change would appear to be. His throat stuck together as though it were glued that way from his very birth, fraught as he was with the same ghost that would not leave him, no matter how hard he attempted to rid himself of its presence- that is until another ghostly cast of some type of splendidly dark, and tangible material which was much more prominent, stepped onto that patch of sunlight encircling him. Before the shadowy hood was lifted, a silent spell had been murmured, although for a moment, Harry's throat was caught. He stroked it quietly.

"Snape?" he croaked, finally.

"That's professor to you," the man snarled, even though the cynical tinge was lessened just a bit. Harry breathed deeply, letting out his tension as Snape approached, his hood sliding down around his shoulders. His jaw clamped in a suspiciously tight gesture, which caused Harry to begin to wonder why, in the bright light of day, his face could not be seen. When he pulled the long, greasy curtain of hair aside, his long spidery hand crept up towards the edge of his high cutting, chiseled bone that formed his high cheek, falling away with more blood than Harry, in good faith really, would have liked to have seen on it. A growl from his throat issued which may have indicated a blatant disgust with Harry, or repulsion, perhaps, at the dying embers of one of Professor Dumbledore's tricks that had teased and tormented the potions master with a penchant filled with his own brand of humor. But at this moment Harry knew instinctively that his pain was tremendous, and the growl a mere indicator of this fateful night.

He walked so languidly over to rest beside the boulder, that the potions master may have been walking through a dream sequence that he had yet to claw his way out form. His breathing was coming in quick, shallow pants, the cruel substance that meandered down his chin in small rivulets of water- a river of red, and dazzling rubies that glistened as they fell in a patterned sequence down his neck- which made no sense, to Harry. He looked as though he were . . . he dropped down upon his knees beside Snape. The black robes were uncomprehendingly careworn and bedraggled. Harry did not think that he could take in the sight completely because something about this scenario just seemed wrong.

"What can I do?" Snape's eyes were centered just toward the right of Harry's side, although they were being shuttered by his heavy lids inevitably. Panting heavily, he croaked through a raspy, heavily clogged filter from which meaning could hardly be gleaned.

"Draught of Levity- potion- in my right pocket . . . small . . . red color." How suiting was it that the potion should be red? Harry plunged his hands into Snape's robes without a second thought.

"I can't- it isn't here!" he gasped, sorting through several empty vials and two green colored naunces. "Sir . . . it's not here. Where else- ?" he left his question to drip like gloom. Snape's panting was worsening as he made a trembling gesture toward the second pocket.

"Try that one." Harry did, but came up again, horribly and incomprehensibly empty.

"There isn't anything." Snape's breaths had shortened to an extent that seemed almost unrealistic, but his eyes had been shuttered entirely by those determined lids. Harry's body now became enlivened by a strange sense of virility- serendipity, some might call it, as it turned out- as he raised his right arm high above his head, muttering a charm that called forth a beautiful, gleaming stag.

"Professor Dumbledore, please come quickly. Professor Snape and I are here in- " He suddenly wracked his brain fervently, realizing that, although it was quite unimaginable, he didn't know where they were. Harry gazed into the bulbous eyes of the serene animal. "Bring him back here immediately," he told it. The stag cocked its head in a curious, silent gesture, and then, to his astonishment, flew away like a streak of light, one that was created by magic . . . and Harry desperately hoped that the magic would be sufficient.

His back straight, he went to rest beside the thin man with the vast portrayal of what he would never name, watching the breath crescents, of nothing . . . how strange was it that this could be deemed as a land of nothing, when the leaves from the trees descended mischievously as though they sought to play with Harry's mind- and they landed in the face of small whiffs of breath that looked like moons, which indicated that Severus Snape still lived- yet for how much longer? These leaves were only playing a rogue game with him . . . nothing but trees merely . . . they were all he could see.

* * *

His eyes widened with astonishment with the flurry of a maroon colored piece of material, caught upon a swaying bramble near the edge of his peripheral eye's vision. A scraggly long beard followed it, clasping the face of a man so familiar . . . that sense perception within his mind was breached, cut off like water- he could scarcely breathe. The face was set and the body clad within a jewel-dotted wizarding robe that marked an elegant and rare persona. Harry stood up to greet Albus Dumbledore. A rustle of the coarse brambles tickled his ears, and the sounds were clandestine but determinable, as though the ears had picked up on something peculiar-

"Hedwig!" Harry gasped, looking at Professor Dumbledore in awe, swathed in glory, to Harry's poor-sighted eyes, for the aged wizard was a spectrum of beautiful bright light after days of living in, well, almost literal blackness. His mouth flew agape. "How . . . ?" His question hung in the air about them while Dumbledore struck past, in a speed of the jagged quickness which seemed rough, powerful and scared. But he displayed none of it.

"Severus . . . Severus- here." Harry stood rooted to the ground as Professor Dumbledore fished for what he presumed was an object. Snape on the other hand, was sprawled eagle upon the ground, his face holding a certain disquiet, making Harry give a sudden jolt for his translucent skin looked defeated . . . as though the blood had been sucked fully away. He looked much like a flame that was dying. The potion was dashed against his mouth with a tinny of a 'clink,' and Harry vaguely wondered if the blood-red spurt that he tipped down the potion master's throat could be an element of Dumbledore's own creation, since he had never seen anything slightly resembling it. The headmaster was quiet for a moment.

"Will he be alright?" Harry asked. He'd not made a motion from the other side of the clearing . . . even while his mind was now being plagued by merciless descriptions of shadowy sepulchers that swam before him, from which he could not escape . . . just then he heard a low murmur of silkiness sweep past.

"Albus." The hunch of Dumbledore's wizened old shoulders gently glided into a normal position, and Harry heard him give a distinct sigh.

"Yes, Severus." Then he let out a lowered chuckle, causing Harry to stare dazedly at him. Snape blinked carefully, although the action swiftly turned into a wince. Tentatively Harry moved in a bit more closely. His green orbs clung onto Snape's black ones, just for but a mere moment in order to seek reassurance. The look he met brewing beneath the surface of Snape's pale marble stone for only several seconds lashed against him, and then the flame was vanquished. What it was, Harry could not fathom. The man stood up in layers upon layers of black glory, which flipped around in waves of fury, while the mean nearest him stepped back so that he could have some . . . space.

"What is it that you require of me?" the professor spat with a glare. "Why do you keep staring at me like that?" The embers locked upon Harry inexplicably . . . "You . . . you- " he cocked one long, spindly finger at Dumbledore. "You have both- " he sputtered incoherently, stepping forward like a demon brought back from a macabre land of who knew what it might have been described as, really "this- is your fault . . . " he said in a lowered tone as the space he sought, grew to an unidentifiable length while Dumbledore allowed him what he wanted, if that was all that he wanted- "why have you decided to come- " his weeping black gaze fell on Harry. "You- you brought him here, didn't you?" he whispered. Harry nodded, and he did not avert his gaze.

"Severus," said Professor Dumbledore, rather sternly, "Harry was left without a choice save to seek assistance from another wizard, and since I am the only one who is the most closely associated and I daresay the most qualified that Harry knows, it seems natural that I would be his first choice." Harry noticed that while Professor Dumbledore's voice gave away nothing, his blue eyes were twinkling- in fact he thought he saw Dumbledore pierce him with a light, merry gesture of those orbs, and he grinned, subtly. Snape drew one of his fine, but slight and bony hands up to massage his temple, before walking backwards several steps, as though he were being pushed into the boulder, where he leaned up against the smooth curving stone, his swathed, heavily cloaked person resting gently into the seemingly patented crevice. Professor Dumbledore watched with an eye of calm disinterest, although Harry knew with an innate certainty that the headmaster must have been feigning it, and when his piercing blue orbs caught his eye, Harry immediately nodded and followed him as he swished around with a rustle of purple. They entered the edge of the forest, where Dumbledore surreptitiously flicked his wand in Snape's direction. He looked into the headmaster's face, not truly knowing how to address him . . . when everyone had visited separate places, for such a terribly long time, and Harry had himself been submerged in Snape's quarters, or rather in Odgen's place, with the potions master . . . he couldn't help casting the man occasional looks discreetly, due to something within . . . he couldn't quite grasp whatever he was feeling. He glanced up at Dumbledore, who leveled him with a flicker of those x-ray eyes . . . he was reminded of the pain through which they'd been- and he couldn't reveal all of it.

"Harry," Dumbledore said in a low tone. He placed one of his hands upon Harry's shoulder, and Harry felt the clutch of his wizened bones. He couldn't help but to think that Dumbledore looked exceptionally ordinary, for someone who had been out hunting for Red Magic. "I need you to tell me everything that happened since the Order met in the confines of dear Odgen's abode." The shrewd glint in those palpable sky-blue stars of light indicated that any details that Harry left out would indeed be noted. Harry swallowed, thinking that . . . he would need to break Professor Dumbledore's trust if only this one time in which they spoke. Dumbledore's features seemed to sharpen into view like little droplets of an immeasurable rain that grew more defined, and he knew that . . . he needed to occlude directly. Gently closing down all of the seemingly meager attempts to eject precious fact, Harry slowly and methodically staunched his mind's efforts- then said, with a face that was completely neutral,

"What is it that you need to know?" The hands that clamped down upon his shoulder, were a unique cue of Dumbledore's patented body signals, and Harry understood that this Occlumency session was going to take tremendous energy, based upon the headmaster's reply.

* * *

Hedwig rested upon Harry's shoulder, cooing softly and with what seemed to be an immense amount of love into his ear. Professor Dumbledore flicked his wand for a second time so that the nonverbal enchantment that had deactivated Snape's ability to hear them was now, quite blatantly removed, for the potions professor was currently striding across the grass towards them, his face stitched up with the most horrific scowl. He stopped several feet away from Harry, his stance positioned a few inches closer to the headmaster.

"You have kept me in the dark, Albus," he said softly, his voice just short of bordering on dangerous.

"Quite right, Severus," Professor Dumbledore said mildly, "but I beg that you do not use that tone with me, since I rather think, that, as necessity called for it . . . " Snape's pallid face was blooming into an ugly but interesting shade of puce, a manifestation that Harry watched with fascination. Snape let out a quiet stream of uncouth language, spun rapidly on his heel, and walked back towards the boulder, where he once again leaned back as if he were made of stone.

"Sir . . . " Harry said, making a fervent attempt not to bite his lips as he asked the question, "you did say, earlier throughout our discussion that we'd soon be rejoining the Order? And . . . are you ever going to tell me what happened to Professor Snape?" he loosed the question in a sliding array of mixed up letters that he was not altogether sure Dumbledore heard . . . even though maybe, the headmaster would avoid his questions altogether, spoke that candidly annoying voice deep down which must have been generated by his own heart.

"Harry . . . please listen to me." Harry opened his mouth, but Professor Dumbledore forestalled him promptly. "Now though I am not fortunate enough to know all of the particulars, Professor Snape has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. Please, let me finish Harry," he said, when it seemed as though Harry meant to interrupt him, "it is simply not plausible for me to give you information which I myself am not sure is one hundred percent veritable." Harry was silent for but a moment.

"Mr. Malfoy knows about his position, sir, he knows that he has been disloyal to Lord Voldemort." Professor Dumbledore suddenly looked very old.

"I am aware of the fact that Severus will most likely be jepordized to the extreme in the future, as will many of us, and as many of us now are," he said almost gently, watching Harry with a keen interest that may have been used to merely contemplate a wall's fly . . ." but listen to me again, very close, Harry. No matter what events you have undergone with the potions master, despite those that you have been through together, no matter what ties you have created with Professor Snape, despite those that you may have broken with him, you are not to go anywhere until I return with the Order." Harry's throat felt like a piece of parchment, one that he was having an extremely crude and difficult time trying to swallow-

"But, why can't we simply apparate with you? Why can't we meet you wherever you are staying?"

"Unfortunately, Harry, Professor Snape does not have the physical ability to undergo apparition at the moment without suffering severe consequences," he told him, casting the potions master a cursory look- Harry saw that Snape had slunk onto his knees, his hair falling around his face like a lank, defeated curtain. Taking a deep breath, he nodded his assent.

"You honestly don't know what happened to him?"

"I have my suspicions," Dumbledore said, and Harry could detect a slight change in his tone, while he watched a shadow that he didn't like cross his old face, and it was like watching embers die, somehow. Harry began to feel somewhat old- although, perchance, 'somewhat' was relative.

"My friends- they're alright, aren't they?"

"No one has suffered from the events of the past week and a half, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said calmly, causing Harry to look up into his wrinkled face . . . there was so much he needed to know . . .

"Ah. But now . . . can never be the time for such adventures. We must wait for time to stop, my dear boy, to retrieve answers to those things that we most desire to know . . . " Harry could see light dancing across those blue windows into Dumbledore's spirit that had nothing to do with the warming sun- he wondered exactly what Dumbledore meant, and yet, suddenly, he started to grow tired. Professor Dumbledore had always been the most extraordinary person.

"Sir-" Harry paused, watching as the purple gown became a cloud in front of him, leaving him to wonder whether or not he actually had anything to ask him, while the white beard and colorful material, was vanquished. His heart started to speed up at the thought of seeing everyone in the Order once again, but when his eyes fell upon the usual visage of black he experienced a sharp yet incomprehensible pain at the secrets that he kept locked away from Dumbledore. Harry could not stop himself from approaching the professor, nor the hands which fought for purchase on the ground, where he sat, observing the man before him with a frankness that was encompassing, swiftly moving the potion master's hair from his eyes while he furiously bared his teeth upon seeing him sitting there.

"What is it that you require, Potter?" Harry simply continued to stare uncertainly at the bedraggled sight.

"Nothing." He shook his head back and forth, making Snape's eyes narrow at him. "I just wanted you to know that I didn't tell Professor Dumbledore anything regarding our _private _Occlumency lessons," he said, emphasizing the word 'private.'

* * *

Snape simply continued to sit there looking at him for a long, long time. The fire that lit his face finally began to die, and as it left the manner of its exit was uncompromising because he no longer sat upon the brink of death. The embers of anger that were completely incomprehensible at the point of Dumbledore's appearance, apparently at the necessity of assistance, Harry imagined- although it may have been something much worse, that Harry could not fathom- were finally dying away . . .


	18. Epitome of Truth

_**A/N: In the beginning of this story, I stated the phrase, 'my stories tend to work themselves out.' I realize that this has been a long journey for some of my readers, and that, during the introspective processes of this piece I have lost some of those who were reading faithfully. Well here I am again, at the ending of this story, and I do stand by what I had before said. My piece has worked itself out, in the way that I had always planned, but perhaps did not fully realize. It is perhaps, a bit shorter than I expected it to be, but then I did not think that I would be turning my works into series- it just didn't have that end in good faith, that I could be satisfied with, because this journey is continuing. I am not sure how long that it will continue for, but I will be moving forward with it. I would appreciate it if you could offer me any feedback that you have, and that, in light of the fact that I will be proffering a sequel to it, that you let me know what your thoughts are at this point? Do you want it to continue? Your support is so much appreciated, and it fuels my inspiration. What do you all think? Thanks a many.**_

_**SM ~**_

_**A special thank you to hazeldragon for all of her awesome reviews.**_

_**{Disclaimer: Please remember that none of this is mine of course- of course! =) }**_

_**I am exhausted! Lol.**_

* * *

**Chapter 17- **

_**Epitome of Truth ~**_

Harry had sat down beside his professor, and placed his hands over his knees a century ago. The long, trailing robes of the master of potions, trailed over the grass between them creating a barrier of snake-like folds that seemed to undulate underneath the hot sun, whose intention must be to bathe them in a heat that was precarious and haphazardous- for who knew what would soon befall, if they were to sit here for ages thinking about who knew what malice, that would beleaguer their minds? Time swept slowly by them in the most horrendous fashion that was possible- and Harry feared it truly . . .

He felt the touch of a beautiful wind sweep past him in which he reveled, and he took the chance at that particular moment to seek out Snape's face, since for hours now they'd been ruled by fatigue- languishing underneath the possibilities of danger that hung over them as surely as did the warm rays of the disheartening sun, who with its bright smile cut off their energies- Harry could not personally discover that precious safety that he yearned for, as the blood pounding now furiously through his heart vessels was toxic, and insidious, as though every cell in his living body had been cursed by the deadliest nefarious spirit imaginable- Lord Voldemort. The sense of security and comfort that he had known at some point in his life was no longer existent, and in fact, if there was truly in the life that peace of the inner spirit, then his search was based within a failed act of the usual mechanisms on which the human, witch or squib or wizard- must run. He was a lost piece in the cog-work, and his blood was no longer real, or- well, healthy.

"Potter, I would truly appreciate it if you would kindly not place your person anywhere near to my robes." Harry moved his hand back as though it had been electrified casting Snape a look of unadulterated shock.

"I would never- " he spluttered.

"But it was, nevertheless upon my robes," Snape snarled, nastily. Harry sighed. The idea that he had taken such a measure . . . but nevertheless, he'd . . .

"In a manner of speaking, I am in your proximity upon Professor Dumbledore's wishes," Harry said stoutly, and his words were unfortunately followed by an ear-grating snort, which in essence meant that Snape had brushed aside anything that he wanted to say.

"Sir, if I can get you anything . . . " And now Snape turned to look at Harry, his face shifting aside ever so slowly, as though he were a dog that was discovering a new scent, one which he found to be absolutely repulsive while he stared down at him over his hawk-like features finally, in a manner that dictated a positively awful scorn. Harry however, stared directly back into those eyes, which were so dark that they almost seemed to shine brilliantly out of that soulless masquerade underneath which there must have been a life that could, really, never be fathomed.

"This is our secret." Suddenly Snape averted his eyes towards the ground beneath his endless apparel, but Harry continued to watch him closely, not knowing how to speak, forgetting, for the minute, where his vocal chords were located, but at the same time, realizing that he and Snape were barreling at break-neck speed towards an understanding could not be put into his vocabulary.

"You must not misunderstand this, Potter!" he spat, when Harry did not say anything to him in return. He shrugged.

"Is there any way that I would?"

"No," he said, his voice fathomless, in its soft and silky enumeration. The sunlight strands of black hair shadowed and his face away from Harry's view, although the beak-like nose still assailed the man, _prominent _as it stuck out, as if-

"I need you to perform magic, Potter." Harry wondered, with every particle of his suspicious tendril of his painfully oozing brain, why exactly Snape did not feel as though taking his own wand out of his pocket was a reasonable solution to the tiring issue of having Harry beside him during this vulnerable predicament. Was there a reason, to be completely honest, as to why he was not cursing him at this very moment? Slowly, his eyes rove up to the black, eerily glistening ones of Severus Snape, where they locked, and he felt as though he were trapped within an enchanting spell . . . before Snape could take it to its wonderful potential. Harry blocked this lovely but subtle skill with his own powerful one, foisting the potions master from his head with uncanny, and, in some manner, a remarkable diligence, for a bag such as he, pushing him magically back into the boulder behind the two of them . . .

Snape was not, however, one from which much nonsense could ever be gleaned from, despite those who despised him to the very depths, who called him names and taunted his nose, making a mockery of who he was, he was not a purple bat that had sporadically manifested within the dungeons- he was a dark and deep enigmatic force, one that was not an easy yoke, but a heavy burden. One should not trifle with the potions master. But it would seem that Harry already had.

"I didn't mean to push you back, sir, but that conversation is private," he said, his voice laced by a stubborn tinge that did not entirely suit him. Snape moved both of his long white, thin hands into the ghostly pockets of his flowing material and then struggled to stand up, accomplishing the feat with more effort than would be truly necessary under any normal circumstance. His ragged breathing complimented beads of sweat now trickling down his face, that were dewy-looking underneath the bright sunlight. Harry did not think that he had ever seen Snape without the nefarious color of black.

"You owe me an explanation, Potter." His teeth were gritted so tightly that Harry feared he might break one of them, and, to his surprise, he found that he needed to retain the information with force . . . then he realized that, while perhaps Professor Dumbledore may find himself in a quandary concerning Occlumency, Harry was still within his rights to share primary knowledge, so in this, he might as well appease Snape. As he cast a side-long glance at him though, he knew that Snape had been correct in one, particular assumption. He did need to perform. Discreetly flicking his wand in a complicated gesture, he muttered a rapid but effective charm underneath his breath. Nearly immediately Snape spun around, his mouth partly opened beneath his narrowed orbs of coal.

"What did you just do?" he hissed at him. Harry refrained from replying. A minute later, as he tactfully ignored the professor by taking a perceptive and, well- conveniently timely interest in the bland landmarks of practically nothing save for forest greenery- Snape abruptly closed his mouth as the effects of the cooling charm began to infuse themselves, his cheeks rather abnormally flushed. When he thought it safe to move, Harry turned around again, and said calmly to him,

"If there is information that you'd like to have concerning our discussion, I will be able to provide you with the essentials. At this moment, I cannot allow you direct access into my mind, because there are elements of the talk which I am not privileged to share with you." Harry bit his lip with force, hoping against hope that this explanation would suffice. A silence followed in which he could only hear Snape's breathing, the exhalations falling in a now smooth and rhythmical fashion.

"Alright, Potter," he conceded finally. Harry gave him a quick, perfunctory nod, relieved . . . before finally providing him with what the headmaster had not seen fit to, for whatever reason.

Harry spoke in muted tones although he did not have a legitimate reason for which to keep the soft and scarcely fluctuating rhythms of his voice so low, that he constantly pulled it lower, as if he found a dire necessity in dragging his words beneath an imaginary surface as he listened to his tones drop, and then drop lower. The trees swayed in a roaring tandem around him while he drummed his fingers against his knees as he finished, and he allowed his eyes to fall away. Snape was quiet, and Harry was aware that the information was not truly information. The dark tongue began to dark out between the thin white lips once again. The voice of Severus Snape meandered through the open space while the grass rustled underneath the strength of a wind that caused the hairs of his neck to raise and perk up. He could have heard that sound from wherever the wind rushed forth, as it was a colorful and a deep hiss, which was consuming.

"You- were correct to tell me this Potter, because now I will be able to trust you with what may in fact satisfy some of your wishes." Harry who had not an inkling as to what Snape was discussing, automatically opened his ears up with a fervent amount of interest, curiously nothing the curvature in his back, wondering why he had come to such a conclusion. The curve slowly became more pronounced as he let out a deep, sibilant hug, swiveling around. On his gaunt face was portrayed an elusive death of some kind-

"Last night Lucius Malfoy of course, impeded our journey when you and I traveled to our destination via this hidden mode of nefarious transit, which, until this space and point in time, shall we say, has been irrevocably marked with the footprints of the Dark Lord- and obviously, his followers," Snape added with the faintest trace of an invisible shadow which crossed over his face, and what Harry could barely discern as, perhaps a light shudder that swept through his body. He mused with an elegant ease that did not clasp onto any form of actual reality about the scream of the tortured souls that was somewhere beyond the path before them, when- unfortunately, yet inexorably and without any further ado Snape portrayed the picture in front of him, clearly . . .

"Potter, the woman in question last night who had been captured by the Dark Lord's followers for an indeterminable time length, knew of our whereabouts, yet she refused to disclose this information." Harry heard the potions master's words, but they meandered through his heart like a thick and less than flexible, gooey substance- as though he had swallowed a wad of cotton.

"Who was the woman?" He could not shake the flavor of black art . . . it was a power which Snape held over him, rooting him to the spot so that he could not move, and it sought to destroy Harry slowly but surely with evil. He swallowed, hard, over it. He needed to know what this horrible thing really was.

"It was Professor- ahem- " he turned a fraction away from him, his hand masking the lips from which the art of evil reached towards Harry's spirit- forever, like a dementor coming slowly ever closer with those stealthy claws of a gloomy, windy stream . . . "McGonagall." And there, that thing that was threatening to overtake his strength, was at last gripping him, noises rushing around him like nails that could not be stopped. Then he staggered forward, extending his hands towards the mass of black and held onto the front of his robes fiercely.

"Where is she?" he asked, his voice issuing in a bizarre, raspy semblance. "Where's the Transfiguration professor?" Harry knew with every ounce of the cells floating around in his head, that she could be the victim and the source of various endeavors that overly fervent, productive Death Eaters would enjoy, since after all, life had been a game, purely unadulterated it seemed- for Lord Voldemort. Harry stared into Snape's coal-black eyes and suddenly wanted to disintegrate, sink into the ground and be lost forever. The malicious but irrefutable love, which Lord Voldemort had for the evil art of insanity . . . this had been tried upon he himself and the games that were played inside his own head still rollicked around up there sometimes, although he really could not say that someone had left a stack of chess pieces, in his brain- they were the terrible products of images which would never leave The-Boy-Who-Lived without blame- they were the shadows of vivid portrayals of the acts which had endangered Sirius- which now endangered the Order. And perhaps Lord Voldemort was not yet finished- what had he done to the professor? Whatever evil deeds had been wrought upon her would be all of his, Harry's fault.

"Potter." Harry's eyes were wide and unblinking as he merely waited. "Potter, let go of the front of my person," he said insipidly, his teeth bared into a feral growl, making Harry relax his hold minutely. Upon the release that pushed him back so that he started to fall into a patch of white flowers behind him in a smooth gesture he succumbed to gravity, sitting down at last within the beauty of nature as the petals swam up to touch his knees in their remarkable depth of pure glory, which enabled the ability to cover the posterior of his body almost entirely. Snape lifted an eyebrow delicately at this strange picture, an act that almost caused Harry to laugh, so bizarre did this gesture look upon Snape's frame, even while he sobered simultaneously. The potions master coughed dryly.

"Be assured that you and the other dunderheads in the house of Gryffindor will still have your Transfiguration professor in the year forthcoming." Harry breathed a deep sigh of relief as he attempted to lift himself from the flowery spectacle of a gorgeous mess, thinking that the main reason for which no one else had walked this area was due to the unquestionably vast abilities of the climbing wall of this miserable bush of white.

"I never saw this bush of flowers," he mumbled, his head lowered during the movement while he tried desperately to maintain his dignity.

"Yes, well . . . " Snape murmured, elegantly turning to walk away from Harry.

"The professor didn't- she- what happened to her?" Harry asked, his voice wrought with a chord that indicated a worry which he wanted to hide, but the guilt washed over him, unable to be suppressed, and Snape paused, cocking his head infinitesimally.

"What happened during the time of Professor McGonagall's incarceration by the Dark Lords followers was wrought primarily by Lucius Malfoy, who upon his exit from Odgen's abode was forced to undergo added pressure from the Dark Lord himself that prompted him to capture her in order to attempt various methods . . . that would, hopefully, induce her to speak. She of course did not listen." Although his voice was grim in its quality, Harry could detect the faintest satisfaction that fascinated him, for he was the sheer epitome of an enigma it would seem. A chill, from a source that he could not with astuteness name, traveled up his entire spine.

"She was brought to our immediate vicinity in the additional hope that during our rescue attempt," he said, placing a silky emphasis upon the last two terms in that statement, "that we too, would as well be captured." His shoulders were curved in a carved statue that defined an unlikely strength rippling beneath the dark material, although Harry had become lost in another piece of time that eliminated the majority of the tangible scene before his gaze. He wanted to lay down yet again in that nest of white, feminine flowers- until Snape swiveled around as a hauntingly, deadly bat, and continued explaining.

"You do not understand fine depictions, Potter. And there can be no question that fortunate as it appears to have a bed of flowers at your disposal, you will not spend your time nesting in that repugnant white nuisance that must have been magically grown by one of Professor Dumbledore's _friends,_" he said, churning the last word out slowly and with a nasty venom, as though he bid Dumbledore's compatriots nothing but the worst kind of dark magic. Harry couldn't help but to chortle. He swallowed over the lump in his throat, however, killing it before laughing since this was not a . . . the lump was possibly comprised not of mere laughter.

"I should have gone with you," he said in a hollow tone that forced from the other man a reaction. The bat nearly stopped pacing, so that he could look at Harry through those stringy black strands, over his long nose that was curved into a sharp scythe, when he spoke.

"I should have gone," Harry repeated. "If I had gone- "

"Then what exactly?" Snape hissed at him from his opposite location on the other side of the boulder. Harry did not truly know what he wanted to tell him for it was too deeply inside, imbedded in his mind. Therefore he merely shook his head allowing it to hang for a moment as though it were suspended, by the invisible thread that he couldn't break, as a faint movement made his ears become slowly more attuned, before he realized that Snape was right in front of him. A shiny, pointed black boot was tapping the green grass, causing Harry to feel inexplicably short-changed for some reason, although he could not really understand why.

"Look- into my eyes, Potter." Harry knew that he would not allow this. No. There was no way on this Earth that he was performing Occlumency on him yet again, not while he was feeling this heavy, anchor-like leaden guilt, weighing upon him so cuttingly and- while he felt what he might consider if he were to dig into the very core of his true motives, an ounce of compassion towards Snape . . .

"Look at me," he repeated, and, suddenly, Harry could not help himself from lifting his head, and meeting his gaze without the barriers that he should have respectfully put up in order to stop the flood from occurring, and so he allowed the thin man access, yet, as he pulled his gaze from Harry and folded his arms over his chest tightly, he could not bring himself to feel any amount of pique at his actions. Snape's eyes flickered slowly, like a light that was burning, yet which could not come to any sort of conclusion as to whether it should die or whether it should live- and Harry knew that Snape had seen more than he probably should have. He could not help but to feel slightly but painfully, in a tight, constricted manner- ashamed. It was more than merely compassion. He actually cared about Snape's well-being, for when he had almost died- he may have torn his own heart into shreds if it would allow him to feel less exposed than he now did, but obviously that was not a viable option for him. He only hoped . . .

"Pot- " Snape stopped and prevaricated for an unidentifiable amount of time, and it would seem as though he was contemplating about something that took a _trying_ deliberation, one that appeared to be a bit unfashioned, in this particular instance.

"This is really a bit unreasonable, sir, and with due respect, I will freely admit to you that, well, I do care about your well-being, a lot, actually." Harry now averted his gaze. Snape too, had shifted his black orbs, as they both added strength to the atmosphere of pure tension. It was so tough and stringent that it would probably be difficult to cut it. "I was terrified the other night," he admitted, finally looking into the potions master's face once more, and he, too, fixed his black eyes upon Harry's bright greens. "I thought I had killed you- " he stopped, shaking his head as if there was a rather belligerent fly that was irking him- "and then, a few minutes ago, when you told me what had taken place, when I heard that scream- some of it," he added sheepishly, "I just could not completely absorb all of it." Harry shrugged, now finding an area somewhere above Snape's ear to be somewhat fascinating. A gruff sound, similar in its essence to a sigh but perhaps, not quite landing upon the tier necessary, meandered into Harry's brain, and vaguely he did not think that it might have, at some point, crudely amused him to see Severus Snape at a loss for his sharply, oftentimes repugnant, insidious snake instrument of a Slytherin, but now that his tongue had failed, Harry could not really, truly be glad about it.

"Potter, there is no reason for you to feel unwarranted guilt," he said finally, heavily. Harry was a bit surprised by this uncommonly candid remark, for it did not seem like it was extremely within his reason for the potions master to relieve someone's pressures in this odd way- and Harry found it to surprisingly be a bit soothing. He glanced up at Snape, who was leaning against the boulder once again in a questioning way, hoping that- if he were to be perfectly honest, he didn't really know what he was hoping for, or what he wanted anymore. Snape resembled a curved stone once again as his body molded into the shape of a rock- it looked as though he belonged there, standing there like that, and the curious hunch in his shoulders, Harry now realized, was perhaps- a bizarre way to relive muscular tension or something, he didn't know. All of a sudden he just felt weak, and awfully hopeless. How could he be anything like this person? How could he face the most evil wizard that had ever walked, with unbreakable shields that shut out his fervent probing, how could he close himself up like that, and still portray such an unwavering amount of sheer strength? He needed to have an answer. He needed to know.

"Please," his voice was barely above a whisper. Snape's arms were crossed over his chest once again, his gaze guardedly set somewhere beyond them in the distance. "Tell me how you shut yourself away like a rock, and how you deceived Lord Voldemort, as well as his followers. I don't know what I am doing," Harry said honestly, splaying his arms out at his sides, while looking at Snape desperately. He was beyond reproach, or concern or care at the moment. He simply needed to attain information- and if he did not receive it, then the results would be, well, at the least unbearable, but it would never be amiss to try. And Snape finally quirked a long finger at Harry, his long hair of shining black cascading around his features beneath the paradoxical sun as he beckoned him towards him. He spotted his pearlescent tinted owl nipping upon something that had burrowed itself in the ground beneath her soft orange feet that she eyed with a malicious air of pure disgust- Harry walked over to Snape, snorting slightly. His black eyes followed Harry's gaze for a moment.

"I see that your owl is enjoying our circumstances." A light sneer played about the thin white line which formed his mouth, but Harry found that he did not mind really. He did think, however much contrary to what Snape may have thought his solicitousness to be- that he should, perhaps, offer him some assistance right about now, since he looked as though he were fatigued to the brink of a precarious sort of danger.

"Sir- I think that- maybe you should sit down?" he asked, coughing slightly, and berating himself for the fact that it came out more like a question about fire-eating slugs. Snape raised his eyebrows at him prominently, creating an arc that was nearly as wide as his nose, making Harry blush.

"You look tired," he muttered, "I mean, you do know that Professor Dumbledore asked me to keep you in excellent physical condition . . . and, um- well I don't really think that this- " he gestured up and down Snape's person- "really counts, in a legitimate fashion, if you know what I'm trying to say- " Harry stopped, as his words started to become garbled. He truly and irrefutably felt like a blustering idiot.

"You did take care of me for several weeks now!" he blurted out loud, not really knowing from whence these tenacious gripping foes came from, as though to plague him. Why could he never close his own mouth? Would it truly be that terribly difficult? It wasn't as though he were a cockroach- he did have a mind in truth!

"I was working as a spy for the Order which you well know," he said in a remarkably calm, smooth tone of silk that Harry did not altogether understand. Nevertheless, he knew that Snape had bested him in this argument even while he tried to discern what was beneath those many layers that the potions master had hidden away, deep within the overlaying shadows of his person, something he could not fathom.

"What is it, Potter?" he snapped, forcing Harry to pull himself from his trance but he simply continued to stare at him oddly, finally saying his thoughts aloud,

"I am trying to figure you out. I just don't understand why you're so closed away, why you won't admit that your concern is present, why it exists, and that you do care for- me, and . . . the Order . . . I mean, it is not really that . . . "

"Potter," Snape growled at him, but Harry was already embarrassed enough to put a halt upon the words tumbling forth from him as though they had been loused by someone that had jiggled a cork in order to finally let the stream out.

"You are not a bottle," Snape said softly, and Harry, quickly realizing what was happening, averted his gaze. He sighed, and Snape tutted, but, then, to Harry's furious astonishment, began speaking, and Harry could not open his ears quickly enough- something fell to the ground from a tree, which scattered it into the distance beyond them, but, Harry tuned out every piece of the world in which they were living as the sound of a mad pumping swept through him, like two hundred lovely black racehorses- but then, that thought was odd. It took a while for the words to make any sense, but eventually they washed over him in a surprisingly, albeit deathly- harmonious semblance, cascading around him in a black arc of deep velvet strings, in the way that Snape's hair fell around his white face. Time had been suspended.

" . . . the headmaster and I disagreed over various issues, but he nonetheless sought your protection for more time than is absolutely worthy of recollection," the sneer coursing through is voice smote the material of the velvet crassly, to take away from the merit of one of Snape's finer moments in all the time that he could considerably remember.

"Challenging him was, as per usual, of little benefit, and so I agreed to oversee anything which appeared to be out of ordinary- "

"At the Dursleys?" Harry couldn't help but to scoff. Those black eyes flickered over to him for a minute, but then Snape continued as though he had not heard him.

"The headmaster boasts a few qualities that some deem to be highly unusual, so this would not be the first time in which his thoughts may be in the category of what can be deemed unique, but he is nevertheless well aware of the manner and the _precise_ lifestyle of your relatives."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Harry said honestly.

"My thoughts on the matter are not important." He knew that in the man's own mind more was festering than he would tell him during this discussion, and that Snape was deliberately maneuvering away from the topic- it struck him that the reasons for which Snape had opted for ignorance in this case were special. Maybe it was a possible circumstance, an odd circumstance, that he was more familiar with his own relatives than anyone would possibly suspect. And then, like a light bulb that lit up the darkness in a deeply tumultuous, hazardous cavern it came to him in a flash.

"Aunt Petunia," he whispered. The words spoke were a mark of danger, and Harry knew that those tunnels should not have been lighted. Snape's eyes were burning so fiercely that they might have terrified him, were it not that he could detect another symptom burning in them- buried more deeply.

Before he even had the chance to stop himself from taking the action he knew he shouldn't have taken, he placed his hand upon Snape's bony shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, confused, as well as abashed by his folly. "I know that it's not exactly in your immediate plans for this . . . conversation." Quickly, he removed his hand, averting his eyes from the potions master. Snape ran a long, nail-splendiferous, finger across his mouth, yet he merely clamped his jaw together, air escaping his teeth in a strange hiss.

"There is no need to apologize," he said in the harsh tone of . . . granite. "The topic is not one that I can discuss with you at this time. Your mother and I were very close." He closed his eyes slowly, languorously even, as though he were relishing something, and, for a moment- Harry felt like he was an intruder to a pain that he never would be privy to, and he . . . well, he didn't like the notion, not really. His mother had been very much a part of Snape's life, but, for him it was like- butter, because although you could cut it with a knife that was made for this sole purpose, but this did not allow one- to necessarily- savor it in your mouth and enjoy it. The tools to someone who was close to his mum would never be opened through the potions master. He couldn't help but to feel a little short-changed. His father, after all had entrusted his son to Sirius Black- but, that was a moot point at this moment. Only Remus Lupin would now be able to unlock the doors that carved a path into his father's history.

"I know," he sighed eventually. "I'm not asking you to." He hadn't realized that he had closed his eyes, but when he opened them Snape was studying him with guardedness.

"I may tell you a little about her, sometime, Potter. At this instant it is not something that we can discuss." Harry realized that once again Snape had broken his Occlumency barriers into something that resembled quiet, serene pygmy puffs, and they were crumbling down slowly.

There was nothing that he could accomplish anymore by attempting to close himself away from Snape's interest, so . . . he did nothing at all about it. But the potions master did seem as though when talking that he did not wish to share anything with him, as if each word was costing him an immense effort, and Harry could not help but to wonder whether he would learn anything at all from Snape. But then, he continued speaking, directly after placing a finger across his lips delicately- he knew that it was a warning sign, but that was fruitless, for Harry wouldn't have interrupted him if Voldemort were to walk upon them, this instant- he had waited for this, it seemed, for an entire lifetime. Yet it had only been a few weeks in reality.

"When the headmaster instructed me to wait near the Dorsey's residence, fearful that you would, in fact, by an unlucky incident betray the magic of your residence, as you inevitably did when walking down the street one day with your cousin- I had not known then, that the circumstances would turn into such a dire drama of all sorts of nefarious happenings, nor that I would be ridding your body of the elusive bite whose rapidly-working venom almost took your arm- Spinner's End, as you are well aware, has been subject to every imaginable dark curse protection that I have knowledge of, and this is considerable, since I have delved deeper into the arts of magical darkness than most people would deem to be proper without some type of surveillance. Were it not for Albums Dumbledore's interference sixteen years ago, then I may not at this moment have access to anything which is centered upon the Order. As it is . . . " Snape here paused, coughing very slightly into his robed arm. Harry noticed that his brow was aligned with sweat once more, and, while he was still in the process of trying to determined whether he should do anything, the potions master continued to speak. He was staring off into the distance now- and the look upon his face was an expressionless mask- Harry, making it obvious that he was still listening, moved to Snape's left side, situating himself against the rock as he attempted to gain some sort of comfort.

"I was of course more than able to maintain you within my quarters, since Spinner's End is very likely the safest abode in the entire world of our kind, due to what would seem to be the most poignant danger," his tone was faintly mocking, "which those who were the closest to the Dark Lord were enlightened of unfortunately, and were provided access into my house, which is generally known to be unplottable, due to the extensive wards that I with the assistance of Albus Dumbeldore, have placed upon it. Yet . . . there were events that I could not foresee," he repeated again. "Spinner's House opened itself to Antonin Dolohov, and I did not figure out the reason immediately, although soon, of course, the reason was brazenly apparent." Snape's eyes traveled over to him, and Harry did not have to ask what it truly was. Deep down, he already knew the answer. "Your curse connection to the Dark Lord has remained steadfast throughout all of these years, and because of the refusal of the blood wards to continue to protect and aid you, it has grown even greater in strength. It is also my educated guesswork that Seraphina's venom has additionally fortified the working process of the connection, but- it has not been proven." His voice was a silky-soft chocolate and the chills running up and down his spine felt like spidery fingers- "If that is indeed the case," Snape murmured, "then we need to walk about our cause with exceptional caution." His eyes traveled up towards Harry's curse scar once more, and the foreboding feeling that tickled his spinal fibers only intensified. "Guesswork is all we can hope for," he murmured. Those long and elegant fingers were tracing the frame of his almost translucent mouth once again, and Harry found himself vaguely wondering whether he had every played the piano- mentally he shook himself.

"The Dark Lord took advantage of the mental needlework in any way that he could, and this created the various hallucinations that you experienced. Upon Dolohov's exit of our dwelling, and your concurrent imaginary figments, I knew that staying there was not safe- "

"Bats," Harry interrupted, and then immediately he blushed furiously. Snape's lip curled. For a moment he thought that Snape was on the verge of laughing.

"That was certainly one way in which the Dark Lord thought to try to entertain himself, although the visions, if I am not much mistaken, intensified later." Snape did not elaborate upon the idea, for which Harry was truly grateful. "It is difficult to predict enigma. One can begin breaking down a type of mystery and continually come to the wrong conclusion. Your own, proved to be rooted in deeper levels of dark magic than many people would dare to visit. Yet, I understood the Dark Lord's goals for you, and I knew what he intended to accomplish by continually impeding your thoughts and by creating around you an arc of continual melancholy, that, in many circumstances, would have tortured the victim into a death-like measure of insanity . . . " his dark eyes sought Harry's out once again, and he locked into Snape's tunneling holes. "You did well." Harry's mouth fell into an 'o' of surprise before he could stop himself. Snape now looked away from him once again. "I will freely confess my surprise at your ability to overcome the Dark Lord's inventions," he softly, now looking off into the distance. "It was . . . unexpected. I had nothing to offer you, obviously, save for my continual existence in the house, in addition to my proclivities for the arts of dark madness."

"You did help me," Harry suddenly blurted out, but Snape did not say anything. "You helped me more than- well, just being there, knowing that in some way you understood . . . " Snape now sought Harry out with a curious measuring, as though he were measuring him, Harry-

"What do you mean Potter?" he asked finally, curtly. Harry bit his lip. He wasn't quite sure how to explain himself properly.

"I don't know how I understood that you and I had shared it, but I knew that when I was undergoing continual bouts of madness, and you looked at me, that, during some frame of time, you had also been such a victim . . . " Harry trailed off. "- and survived," he whispered. "I admired you for it, and I grew to admire you for other qualities eventually . . . it just took me awhile to get my head cleared," he at the last offered Snape, his tone sounding fairly apologetic. Snape merely sighed though.

"I have been paying for past sins for an extremely long time," he muttered, his brow furrowed. Harry noticed that he unconsciously placed his right hand upon his left forearm, and then he experienced something foreign- feeling sorry for Snape. Although the potions master did not at first appear to see what he was doing, Harry slowly reached a hand out- then, as though he were afraid of being rebuked, he pulled Snape's clamped hand apart, moving it from its position. He sucked in a deep breath, glancing around at him. He watched as Snape visibly swallowed.

"I may have been wrong- about a few other items as well." For a strange, unfathomable reason, he appeared to be experiencing some slight breathing problems. "You are not as similar to James Potter, as I once proclaimed. In fact, you are in the essential qualities, much more like your mother." Harry's heart went up, all the way into his adam's apple and rooted itself there, cutting off all of his oxygen. He had never dreamed in a million centuries that Snape would pay such a compliment to him, and he felt himself, for the moment, completely overwhelmed. After a minute however, in which neither of them spoke, Harry could do nothing more than utter a quiet 'thank you.' He felt the ground shift a little and then realized that Snape, too, was probably a bit embarrassed. With an innate grace that he did not often show he possessed, Harry endeavored to move the conversation to another section.

"So, you- after you determined that- er- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had not been able to break me entirely- " Snape sighed, again, and Harry wondered whether or not he needed to spell him.

"Sir- " he asked hesitantly, "do you want me to cast another cooling charm?" Snape frowned. He waved a hand aside quickly. "It is no matter," he said.

"I have not much information left, to give you. Everything is as I said. You are well aware of the fact, that, in light of your mental connection, and the fact that my abilities to spy are no longer existent, we must now follow the Order's directives, by working with its members rather than from the exterior." Harry felt his heart soar again, with a joy that he could not fully describe. It seemed to be nearly unimaginable that he would be able to be in his friend's vicinity once more- he looked up at Snape. There was a stretch of silence between them. So many sins had already been pushed away from many wizards, and so many were yet to be uncovered. He felt that, if it took him an entire lifetime, he would never be able to do what was expected of him, and . . . truly, he thought, as he watched his musings flit over Snape's features, reflected in those black holes- his Occlumency still left much to be desired.

"Yes, it does," Snape muttered. Harry couldn't help himself. He let out a loud, robust laugh. He felt so free from all of the world's wrongs at the moment, that he simply allowed the feeling to overwhelm him. Snape sighed, yet again, above him. His laughter was still by his next words- he didn't know exactly why it was so, but Snape's next words cut through him like a bloody knife-

"In the end Potter, time is all we have." He could hear more than truth in Snape's words. His eyes reflected a past that, for better or for worse, had been carved out, slowly, meticulously, and, even- murderously- by time. So much pain seeped through this thin and pale strength that was nothing but black clothing, and- in his black eyes, strange, enigmatic vehicles crept occasionally- the very edge of madness. Suddenly, Harry heard the crack of several apparitions in the distance.

"The Order," he murmured. Snape nodded confirmation. It seemed as though the sky had darkened, and Harry heard a raven cawing in a crass, tumbling semblance above them- it had no heed of anything save for its own failing, or falling blocks of musical melody, and, actually, Harry thought that it rather sounded like Aunt Petunia in the hot shower. He heard a low, barely discernible chuckling assail him- footsteps were coming nearer- and the two of them stood there, merely looking into one another's eyes, Snape the epitome of death, communicating even though there was really nothing that they needed to say-

No. That was wrong. There was everything left in the world to say, and Harry was going to make damn sure that they were both around to hear it said. He squared his jaw and reared his shoulders, like the boulder that he knew Snape to be.

"Stay with me," he said in a strong, clear voice, before taking a step away . . . he could hear his friends calling him. "And you can stop calling me Potter," he added, as he began to move back in a retro-fashion. "I think we've moved past that." The potions master inclined his head shortly.

He knew that Snape was correct. In the end, time was all they really had.

* * *

_**Let me know what your thoughts are, concerning the sequel and any other matters at hand. They are appreciated with love. I suppose that I shall say adieu for now . . . cheerio!**_


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